


on the tracks

by lesbianlouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, British weather is so wild, Coming Out, Fluff and Angst, Harry really likes Louis' eyes, M/M, Traintracks, Zayn grows weed, anxiety mentions, character death (not main characters), hidden treehouse, lots of trees, messily written handjob, oh and there's a Lionel Richie concert amidst all this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7443652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianlouis/pseuds/lesbianlouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry moved into the desolate woods, he expected to lay in bed the entire summer whilst mourning for his sister (who happens to be alive). Instead, Harry finds a hidden treehouse in the woods that belongs to Louis. Zayn lives in a cabin and is always high. Niall pops by a few times. And, well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the tracks

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever completed in my life. Thanks to Jack for pushing me to actually finish it and being a general cutie. Thanks to Nayab for actually reading this mess. Thanks to anybody else reading this mess.

Simultaneously, the world outside the car windows became more vibrant with hues of greens and browns, and the twisting feeling in Harry's gut dispersed across his entire body. He wasn't only nervous, but excited, confused, dazed. His eyes peered at the passing woodland and Harry craned his neck further into the unknown to seek out his new home, coming across nothing other than more trees, more greens and browns, more nothingness, more change.

The sun was the one aspect that gave him a little bit of hope however. It wasn't new, it hadn't changed, and nor was it ever going to. He had looked up at the same one since he was a child, and even now it was bright as it had ever been, following him on this new journey. Thinking about it calmed him significantly, causing him to slump uncomfortably into his seatbelt rather than glare out of the windows. 

The fiery star made the woods appear a lot less wild too, the scratchy trees transformed into light oak and pretty leaves, twinkling under rays of pure ivory. Still, Harry had his doubts hidden amidst the lingering shadows, thinking of the deeper sentiment that all light carried dark. 

He sighed in time with the car's movement over a rocky patch in the muddy road. He averted his eyes from the the back of his mother's head and glanced at his hands, keeping green on the light peach curve of his fingernail until his mother's voice reached his ears a short while after.

"We're here."

Her voice was purposely attempting to be soothing - a tactic she'd probably learned at one of her therapeutic afternoon clubs to ensure that Harry felt at ease - but it didn't really work. Harry drew his eyes upwards. 

Anne's body was wrapped around the passenger seat, her head levelled with his and her own glimmering green eyes scrutinising Harry's facial expression. He gave her a tight-lipped smile, and she responded by returning the gesture and reaching out a gentle hand to rest on Harry's curled fingers. She was trying to comfort him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay in her own motherly way; Harry gave a slight nod of recognition.

When he averted his wistful gaze from his mother to his surroundings, he almost felt a pang of nostalgia. They were deeper into the woods and there was an unmistakable aura of tranquility. There were less trees here, but they were thicker than the ones on at the start of the woods. It meant that there were less shadows, and less bugs scurrying all over the place.

Eventually, Des cut off the engine - they were parked on the cobbled driveway at the front of the house. Des hummed delightfully as he took his keys from the ignition and exited the vehicle, before walking to the boot of the car. Anne plucked the two empty paper cups from the cup holder in front of her and took them with her as she followed suit. Harry cracked his knuckles and stretched his limbs to ease his cramp before fumbling open the door and climbing out into the forest alongside his parents. 

His eyes flickered around, first seeking out their new home, stark and modernised against the backdrop of trees. This cabin house was around the same size as his old home, a nonexistent difference despite the sudden change in surroundings. His parents seemed to believe that this new change would be 'riveting'. But they were secluded without neighbours and surrounded by wild animals. 

Riveting.

He slumped against the car door as his mother looked over from the porch. "Are you going to come inside and help put away some stuff before the moving van arrives?" she called. Des appeared by her side and animatedly wiggled one of the boxes from the back of the car, until Anne slapped his wrist lightly and muttered to him that her prized possession Buddha ornaments were in there. She thought of the three of them as sacred objects in her ever-peaceful Buddhist life. Harry was past it all. 

"If it's okay with you, I was going to explore the woods?"

"The woods? I thought you might like to check out the house first, we just got here!"

"If the moving van is coming, I won't be able to look around the house properly anyway. I promise I won't wander far."

Anne let out a small huff. "At least let us get a picture in front of the house to commemorate the moment."

Harry rolled his eyes but nonetheless went and stood beside his mother. Des placed the box on the floor and was in charge of taking the picture, in which Harry probably looked morbid and Anne was grinning too wide. Des nodded when he had taken it and Anne turned to Harry, still smiling largely. 

"Make sure you have your phone on you so I call," Anne commanded. "Actually, I'm not sure about the reception out here. Just don't get lost and try to be back in an hour, okay?" 

Harry nodded and pushed himself away from her touch. He began his journey by walking towards the right side of the house, heading in the direction opposite of his mother's watch. He pulled out his phone when he reached the makeshift back garden and checked his phone stats: His internet connection was lacking signs of life and his battery percentage was dismal. He turned his iPhone onto Low Power Mode, set an alarm to ring in an hours time and pocketed his phone.

He first scoured the tangled floor and the twisted trees for forms of life, finding only a few beetles, grasshoppers and butterflies, no exciting deer or birds like he had anticipated. His feet gradually waded into higher grass, the crunching sound beneath his shoes alarming a nearby group of insects whom in turn scurried over the base of the tree trunk beside him.

Harry's eyes locked with the neighbouring tree. He hurried towards it and brushed his hands against the bark to test whether it was slippery or not. It was surprisingly dry, and seemed to have enough protruding bark for him to be able to climb, as well as patterns in the wood to help with grip. He looked back towards the house, now a little further away, and once he was sure that his mother wasn't peeking from any of the windows he wrapped his arm around the tree. He began to find footing on the grainy wood and proceeded to lift himself upwards. He got three quarters of the way up when his footing almost slipped, causing him to leap forward to catch the lowest branch in his vicinity. He hooked his fingers around it and pulled his body upwards, managing to land his feet back on the base of the tree. With gentle ease, he made it to one of the thicker branches higher in the tree, where he perched with his legs looped around the wood and his palms keeping him steady.

Now that he was higher up, Harry could make out the sound of birds tittering in the adjacent trees, and felt the faint brush of wind against his jacket-covered skin. He explored everything he could see: There was a musky pond further east, seeming vast in the way that the wind blew across its surface, sending on never-ending topaz ripples - the edge of the pond was mostly rimmed with shrubs and cattails. If Harry squinted hard enough, he could make out a small cabin-like structure in his furthest reach of sight. Also, he could see trees. Lots and lots of trees.

He looked back to his house and noted that the moving men were now carrying boxes to and fro. He watched the movement for a while, watched as his old life was being slowly transported into a deserted house in the middle of the woods. He huffed, and his eyes travelled around the top of the house. He spied some birds near the makeshift chimney, some fallen leaves on the rain gutters and windowsills, and the slightest of rain damage against the otherwise-perfect oak. He was looking at the back garden - a pit of mud and wild flowers with its barely-stable white gate and a lone deckchair - when he noticed a mesh of wood and metal peeking from behind the side of the house. Where the metallic object in the ground was, the grass had been cut off.

Harry descended the tree, squishing his eyes shut when his hand fell over a rough patch of wood that surely scratched him. He plopped to the ground and walked warily forwards, inspecting the slight graze on his palm. It was only a few centimetres in length and partially reddened - it would be fine. Harry continued walking.

The unfamiliar, glistening thing that Harry had stumbled across - positioned a few metres away from the side of his new house - happened to be more significant than he'd assumed it to be at first sight. More obvious now that it was out in the open, too. 

Train tracks.

They were engulfed with moss and forest debris, but they were quite clearly train tracks. They looked as though they hadn't been used in the longest of times and Harry wondered why they even existed in the first place. He knelt down and brushed aside some of the plants that had become entwined with the wooden planks, studying it. The sunlight had caught on the two metal strips, yet more so on the part he'd rendered clean. He could almost feel the reflective heat hitting his cheeks.

He stood back up - his knees letting out a punctuated crack - and looked for an end to the tracks. There wasn't one, simply an endless line of wood and metal, unkempt and abandoned. It plunged into trees either side of him in a straight line and didn't return.

Harry followed the tracks parallel to his back garden, walking further from the house again. When he was at least a yard away from his own, he let his legs go limp and clumsily fell to the ground beside the train tracks. He curled his legs in front of him and played with the grass next to them, curling strands around his long fingers as he sighed into the cool air. The sun was above, moistening his forehead via its warmth, yet warmth wasn't something Harry mentally felt in that moment; he felt displaced.

He laid under the trees, sun and sluggish winds for at least half an hour more until disrupted by his alarm. He yanked the device from his pocket and ended the irritating sound with his eyes merely squinting, shoving it back into his pocket afterwards and plonking his head back onto the ground. He softly fluttered his eyelids open, trying to focus on the shadows of the tree next to him to get his eyes used to being prodded by the harsh light. When he found a little focus, he rubbed at his closed eyelids. It wasn't until he was dragging himself into a sitting position, however, was it that he noticed that there was something above him.

He quickly scrambled to stand for the second time in half an hour and took a step back to see the view clearer. He made out a sharp wooden edge, designed from wood a few shades lighter than the actual tree itself, poking out from the top of the massive tree (massive as in, these trees were extremely wide at the top and collectively left little space for sunlight to slip through). It looked as though there was more to it that was hidden by the branches. Perhaps a hideout? 

Harry looked around the base of the tree, finding step-shaped chunks of wood shoved into messy slots in the trunk, handmade and barely preserved with mud covering them. They definitely seemed to make their way up the tree, and Harry was certain he'd stumbled across a treehouse. He couldn't see how big it was from down on the ground, the only thing seemingly odd about the tree being the one edge and the steps. It was beautifully hidden, to the extent that you probably wouldn't stumble across it unless purposely looking for it... or by pure chance.

But it was a treehouse, insignificant amongst the plentiful trees and their large leaves.

Harry looked up at it for a few more seconds, tracing what parts of it he could see with his eager eyes, before stepping back and turning completely away from the sight. He made a mental note of his whereabouts so that he could return again and explore. Then, he walked back towards his awaiting mother.

*

The house was surprisingly pleasant, to say that Harry was adamant to stay at his old home. 

When he climbed up those three little steps and walked through the front door, he was met by the smell of lavender and wood which overtook his senses. His mother called 'Harry, is that you?' as though anybody else would be out here in the desolate forest visiting the house. He took off his shoes and tossed them onto the old metal rack somebody had placed by the door, smiling at how familiar it was. There was a picture frame hanging above the shoes, with the words 'home sweet home' carved from felt. It was something Harry's mother had designed when she took craft classes on a Saturday afternoon back in Cheshire. Harry always thought it was soppy, demanding that she removed it whenever he brought a friend round. Gemma was the only one that found it cute.

Harry stuffed his hands into his thin jacket pockets and ventured further. There was a staircase facing the doorway with his mothers fake plants in their excessively long and decorative pots positioned either side. The walls and floors around him were made from oak, and everything that had structure was based on some type of wood. The house was pretty much a myriad of wood: Some mahogany here and there, more wood, oak, wood, and more oak.

He explored the rest of the house, finding that the rooms were pretty much bare aside from the basic furnishing such as beds, with some of his mother's homemade decor dotted around in her own room and the living room. There were a few family photos lined up along the upstairs landing which Harry smiled at. There was one of Gemma and him side-by-side, dressed as superheroes ready to fight the bad guys of the world. 

Harry found his new bedroom and shoved open the door. It was bigger than his previous bedroom and had a high roof like the rest of the house. He had a single, large window which overlooked the back of the house, and his bed was positioned against on the wall to his immediate right. There was a large box to his left, where he assumed his wardrobe was stored in dismantled pieces. 

Decorating was going to be an exciting process. He was starting to feel giddy just picturing where he was going to stick his band posters and fairy lights. Maybe he would pick a colour scheme and actually follow through on it this time. He could do everything black and white apart from his posters, the focal point of the room.

This part of the moving process was nice, to say the least, and it seemed that there were many nice things in this place, in the forest, that Harry had otherwise doubted. Like the pond he'd seen earlier - perhaps he could visit it and seek out the cabin, too. Maybe moving wasn't going to turn out as badly as he was anticipating.

Later that night, when him, his mother, and Des were sat around a bare table for a plain supper of bangers and mash ('I forgot about the food!' Anne had groaned, staring blankly into the wet box of minimal defrosting food items. She'd plucked out the barely-preserved sausages, found some potatoes in another box, and decided to dine with simplicity), Harry brought up the treehouse. He was greatly intrigued, yet he didn't want to be outright about it, reasoning that the wooden den could be hidden for a reason and he didn't want to unnecessarily expose it.

"What else came with the house?" he asked tentatively amidst a boring discussion of how they were going to decorate the back garden, and whether Anne was going to try to plant some more flowers (the last time she'd tried, they'd all died when summer rolled around).

"Like what?" Des asked, perhaps surprised that Harry was contributing to a conversation. "The garden and stuff?"

"Yeah, but is it just the house? No separate cabins or anything?" he pushed delicately, dipping his sausage into some gravy.

Des let out a hearty chuckle and shook his head. "I think there's a cabin somewhere around here that belongs to somebody from the village. I don't know what it's for, mind you."

Harry nodded along, and stuck his fork into his mash without another word. 

*

Harry was up and ready early the next day. Maybe it was because of the sun streaming through his windows, willing his eyes to open; or maybe it was the inkling in his stomach that urged him to want to explore the treehouse. Either way, he was up, cleaned and dressed by late morning. He strolled downstairs to find Des and Anne already awake, chatting amiably with scorching mugs under their palms. They smiled and included him in conversation whilst he made some toast.

And then he was out of the door. His mother didn't say a word about his sudden spontaneity, probably hoping that it would give him a chance to lighten up about the whole moving business. 

He followed the tracks by he left side of his house until he came to the familiar tree, admiring the size of it for a while as he collected himself. He didn't know what he was getting himself into, really, but Harry Styles loved a mystery and if anything, this unaccounted for treehouse was mysterious.

Who had created it? Was it occupied? Did Des truly not know about it? It was weird, and it was exciting, and that's why Harry found himself tentatively placing the soles of his large brown boots onto the bottom, messily-made step. It was already caked in mud, leading Harry to wonder whom the most recent venturer had been.

The dangers of the situation barely crossed his mind. If there were prints on the steps then there was bound to be somebody up there, or somebody recently there; somebody could be watching him right this moment. Whatever. He just followed the instinctive flutter in his tummy and climbed the steps all the way to the top. The trunk ascended into an entranceway, and Harry found himself stood by a door that when pushed open revealed a house. 

It was initially larger than he had imagined. It spread the entire width of the ancient tree and it was a marvel that it was entirely covered on the outside by the large leaves. It was carved smoothly, and home to a large window positioned north of where Harry was standing. He could see trees in the distance, their crowded branches level with his eyes. They all looked so much mystical from up here, so much more unreal. 

The air held a mixture of honey, paint and wood. The woody smell was a given, the honey scent was peculiar, and the paint aroma was coming from an easel placed by the side of the rectangular window. There was a canvas sat on it with a few streaks of dried green paint around the edges. The scent of the paint was most likely being released from the barely-dried palette balancing on a wooden stool directly in front of the window. 

What was really off-putting was the fact that somebody had been there, painting, merely moments ago. Harry decided that they weren't around in that current moment, yet he was certain that they would be back soon and so he tried to hurry his search.

The treehouse was also home to a large, verdigris couch. It looked worn-in, its cream cushions crumpled and mild indents in the seats. One of the arms held a fashion magazine that was open in a random position, and there were more of the same in a stack on the wooden table in front of the sofa. There was an ashtray with traces of crumpled cigarette butts, a glass that was near-empty of water and a packet of open plasters on the same table. Positioned in front of that, west from where Harry was stood, was another canvas.

This particular canvas was hung up in the middle of the wall, just above a set of drawers. Although it had a ratio of less paint than canvas material, it appeared to be a completed piece. It wasn't a landscape drawing, or even a portrait, just a capitalised sentence written in all black. 

'Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.'

It was a bold statement, in both a literal and metaphorical point of view. The painting of the words seemed almost scratchy to Harry, as though the artist had been trapped inside a coffin and had scratched them away with their nails. The kind of vibe Harry got from it was sad and distraught, despite the fact that the quote seemed to be quite happy and actually relative to his current situation. 

The canvas itself was possibly bigger than half of his body, too, and the fullness of the words made him take a step back into the doorway. Suddenly, feeling like he had intruded upon something, he scurried down the base of the tree and barely landed on his feet.

*

After that, Harry had added it to his daily routine to sit by the train tracks and watch the treehouse closely, without being intrusive. Not once had he seen a train going by, or a person going near the tree. He was certain that somebody was lodging there, yet it was too risky to go back up again; Harry wasn't good with confrontations.

So he sat, and sat. Sometimes he brought his journal and scribbled away his thoughts, sometimes he took pictures of the nature around him, but often he just laid down and napped. Not once throughout the first week did he spy or hear anything, not even the auburn squirrels he sometimes got a glimpse at as they scurried into the trees. He eventually started to get bored of sitting around the same place for hours on end, but kept it going out of total boredom despite his mother's wishes that he did something more productive.

On one particular day, a Wednesday, it was noticeably rainy and the skies were overcast and grey. Harry knew that his morning spent outside would be cut short, but decided to try it anyway due to the fact that the owner of the treehouse would most likely show because they'd expect Harry not to. He shoved on the thickest coat he could find and grabbed his mothers polka-dotted umbrella, before running out of the house and heading to his usual spot right under the treehouse.

Ten minutes in and, as always, his actions were to no avail. There was no movement anywhere. All the insects had gone into hiding, the birds were nesting somewhere from the rain, and the only motion was the raindrops. They looked pretty at first, but the parts of Harry that the umbrella couldn't entirely cover became wet and suddenly they weren't as pretty. He cursed silently to himself and tucked his legs further into his body, feeling the uncomfortable squelch of soppy mud under his boots. 

He closed his eyes and focused on the smell of rain, dependent on his sense of hearing to help him seek out the owner of the treehouse. The act was serene for a little while, the raindrops bouncing peacefully on the floor with tiny splats, until his ears were overpowered by the sound of something else.

"Y'know, you literally live a few yards away in a warm, cosy home. You'll probably catch hypothermia if you stay out here."

Harry banged his head against the bark in surprise and his eyes quickly widened. He looked up and found a guy, no older than twenty-five, glancing down at him with a slight grimace on his face. He had a dark blue Adidas jacket around his torso with the hood pulled over his mop of brunette hair, paired with black jeans that had been darkened by the rain. Harry gaped a little before collecting himself - he'd finally caught them. Or, they'd caught him?

"Wh-"

"I see you out here a lot. You kind of exceeded the point of loneliness, though, so I thought I'd show my face." The guy faked a sigh and stuffed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. "It's also kinda weird that you're always right outside the window, waiting for something - probably me. I look down and I see you nine times out of ten. It feels like a privacy infringement."

And, who the heck was this guy? He was sharp-witted with narrowed eyes and a judging tone. First thoughts: Not to be trusted, yet he was humorous. "I didn't mean to invade your privacy?" Harry said, although it came out as more of a question. 

"I was kidding. What's your name?"

"I'm Harry," he managed to get out, not caring now that he was being rained on and that his umbrella had been lowered from his head.

"Nice to meet you, 'I'm Harry'. My name is Louis."

Harry rolled his eyes at that one. "You're hilarious, congrats. Aren't homicidal cannibals living in treehouses in woods supposed to be witty, smart and creepy? Enticing enough to lure in victims and stuff? You're only creepy."

"I see that we have a shared sense of humour. Would you like to come up?" Louis asked with a light smile. 

"Up... there?" Harry asked, gesturing his hand towards the tree above him.

"Nah, in the secret hot air balloon hidden behind this tree," he replied sarcastically. Harry guffawed. Louis held out a small, tattooed hand. "You've already broken in so it's not really going to make a difference."

Harry ignored the hand, albeit slightly regretting it five seconds later, and dragged his arse from the wet ground with little help from the large umbrella he was pulling along. The rain was dripping down his face. "I hardly think I broke in. The door was open."

Now that he was stood, his eyes were level with Louis' neatly curved eyebrows. He brushed off his jeans and tried looking defensively into the boy's cerulean eyes.

"Trespassing, then. What's the difference?" Louis questioned, tacking on a soft chuckle. His voice was entirely sweet, dripping like marshmallow fluff from his tongue. Harry shrugged and pulled his umbrella back over his head. Louis made his way to the opposite side of the trunk and began to climb the makeshift steps. When it was his turn, Harry was careful to mind the streaks of mud from Louis' shoes. He ended up where he was a mere week ago.

"Welcome to my humble abode."

"Again," Harry quirked.

Louis smiled. "Again."

"It doesn't smell much like smoke this time," Harry commented, nodding at the familiar surroundings. Nothing much had changed, although the ashtray on the table was empty and the magazines were now in a neat pile. "But there's still the tear-inducing honey."

"Honey?"

"...You literally live in a beehive."

"Oh, I don't live here," Louis said as thought Harry should've known that out by now. Louis walked towards the verdigris couch and sat down. Harry placed his closed umbrella on the ground by the door.

"You don't?"

Louis shook his head. "I just come up here for the fun of it. Sometimes I paint, sometimes I hang out with Zayn."

"Zayn?"

"Yeah, he lives close by." Louis furrowed his eyebrows slightly at Harry for a second before delving into his trouser pockets for a packet of cigarettes. After pulling them out he took one and balanced it between his lips. "Do you smoke?"

"I'm seventeen."

"Do you smoke?" Louis repeated, smiling slightly. He had his tattooed hand wrapped around a lighter, searching expectantly for an answer.

"No, no."

Louis lit the end of his cigarette and inhaled deeply. When he released his breath, the smoke curled around his face and Harry watched as it faded into the air.

"How old are you?" Harry asked.

"Twenty three."

"And you have a treehouse?"

Louis sniggered. "It's great."

"So why were you hiding?" Harry stepped forward from the doorway and stopped by the couch, regretting as much when he felt the cigarette smoke hit him.

"I hoped you'd think I was nonexistent. I don't think I'm allowed to be up here, it's probably private land." Harry raised his eyebrows, looking around the room once more. 

He sought out more details of the place. The window was barely a window, just a rectangle cut out of wood. The parts of the window that weren't sheltered by the branches and leaves above were letting the rain enter. There was a wet patch on the left of the window frame, but the right side, where the canvas was, remained dry. The canvas itself was now almost complete, and it showed a boy sitting by the train tracks. Harry recognised the long brunette ringlets and faux-suede burgundy jacket that be possessed, spinning around to face Louis.

"Is that me?"

Louis nodded, shrugging. Louis had made him look ethereal under the sunlight, the image painted realistically with soft brush strokes. Louis was decidedly an awesome artist rather than a homicidal cannibal. 

"It's beautiful actually... I saw the unfinished painting last week and I thought it was pretty. Now I don't know whether I should be honoured or scared."

"Honoured. It was supposed to be a painting of just the train tracks, but I added you in." Another burst of smoke curled around his face. "You can sit, y'know?"

"Thanks." Harry sat. The couch was more comfortable than it looked. 

He tried not to cough at the amount of smoke coming from the cigarette perched between Louis' lips, and trailed his eyes around the room instead. It was a nice space, if a little tight. 

Harry coughed.

Louis' response was a soft sigh. Harry watched as Louis took the cigarette between his middle finger and his thumb and leant forward to dab the end of the cigarette into the ashtray, releasing his grip when the stick had stopped burning. Then he sat back. "I'd kinda gotten used to smoking around somebody who was used to it," he said.

"Maybe you shouldn't smoke, full stop. It's bad for you."

Louis' smile widened. He really did have a nice smile, paired with nice cheekbones and a bit of scruff. "It's just a bad habit I have. Zayn, too, which is why I don't have to worry about breathing it in his face."

Harry nodded and turned back towards the painting on the wall. He could still hear the raindrops hitting the grass outside, fading slightly. It reminded him that he'd probably been out for far longer than anticipated.

"I should probably get going..." Harry said. He looked down at his lap and pulled his iPhone from his pocket to check the time. He had been out for half an hour already. 

"Already?" Louis groaned. 

"Yeah, my mother will kill me if she finds out I'm talking to a random smoker in a treehouse that she doesn't even know exists. It was nice meeting you though, I'm sure you're lovely under all that false humour."

Louis tittered through the first half of Harry's goodbye. "Same to you." Harry felt Louis' arm nudge against his side and took it as a cue to stand. Louis arose after him and proceeded to follow him towards the door. Harry was about to insist that he could get himself down, but Louis brought one of his tiny fingers up to his own lips to hush him.

"I'm just being a gentleman, or whatever. Wouldn't want to scare you away for good," Louis explained. His face was lit with a smile, and he had to look up through his fringe to see Harry because of their slight height difference. Harry nodded, slipped his hand on the wooden doorknob and pulled it open. He clambered backwards down the tree (which was quite a difficult task when it was sopping wet and mud had gathered on the stairs) and plopped to the ground.

When he looked up, Louis' small frame was barely visible behind the leaves, but he was perched by the door with his tiny hand grasping the doorknob. Harry could see his his hand slightly raising to wave. He blinked back the steady raindrops (which was around the moment he realised that he'd forgotten his umbrella) and waved back, before scurrying away in the opposite direction with a squelch of his boots.

*

Harry couldn't go out the next day because he'd attracted a cold and his mother was droning on about scarves and rain and how stupid he was for going outside in such disastrous weather and leaving his umbrella in the middle of the woods. It was pretty stupid, Harry thought. He only had a mere sniffle. Besides, the weather had almost cleared up and this morning he was surprised to find the sun looming over the house. 

He wondered whether Louis was still up in the treehouse. He doubted that Louis would need to visit every single day of the week, yet he had somehow managed to nearly finished an entire painting in a week, which obviously took some time and effort. Harry honestly didn't know. 

Either way, he didn't know whether Louis even liked him or not. Harry hoped he did, because he thought that Louis himself was a nice guy, even if he inhabited a treehouse and came across as too sarcastic.

Harry wondered where Louis lived if it wasn't in the treehouse. He probably had some family of sorts in the village. But then he had talked about a Zayn fellow who he could possibly be lodging with... Harry didn't know whereabouts, though. He didn't think that Louis was the type of person to trek half an hour to reach the woods from the village, even if he was sporting an Adidas jacket.

It was another mystery.

*

The next time Harry saw Louis was on the Saturday. He'd been busy painting his bedroom and storing his possessions all week. He'd gone with a grey coloured wall, but left the wall behind his bed blank to cover with band posters.

His mother proclaimed that they could have a break and said she was heading into the village with Des if Harry wanted to go along to get away from the house for a bit. Harry declined the offer, saying that he'd spend the day putting his posters up or something. Anne seemed hesitant to leave him, but bid him farewell with a kiss to the cheek and reminded him to have dinner. Harry did keep to his word and started to put up his posters, but his interest dissipated around noon and he decided to visit the treehouse to see if Louis was around.

Dumping the remaining posters on his bed, he exited the house, locked the front door, and then headed towards the treehouse. He thought about throwing a stone at the wood so that Louis may hear and come down, but figured that Louis would just think it was an animal and ignore it. He placed his hands on the highest step he could reach and began to climb. The door was closed, but it opened with a single push. Inside, he singled Louis out straight away, sat on the sofa surrounded by his magazines and sipping on a cup of tea. He looked up and smiled when he saw Harry.

"Hey," Louis greeted. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"Sorry, didn't think you'd actually be here." 

"It's fine, come in." Louis cleared the pile of magazines to his left and patted the sofa for Harry to sit, which Harry did. He could smell honey again.

"Do you have honey?" Harry asked, sniffing up slightly.

Louis nodded, spreading his fingers around his cup handle and holding it out towards Harry. "I put it in my tea sometimes because I don't like to have sugar and it gets a little bland. Do you want to try it?"

Harry eyed the cup suspiciously and shook his head in dismissal. "I'm good, thanks."

Louis chuckled, bringing the cup back towards his chest. "I probably wouldn't either, it's a little cold."

"Was it ever warm? I don't spy a kettle anywhere around here."

"Ah, I make it at home and put it in that flask," he nodded towards the silver flask on the table by his sprawled-out feet, "and then I bring it up here with me. I keep quite a few mugs up here if you want some without the honey." 

"I think I'm fine," Harry said. "If you ever want hot tea you could always pop by my house and use the kettle."

Louis took a little sip of his tea. "What would your parents say if I randomly knocked on your door asking to use the kettle?"

Harry shrugged, feeling his arm brush against Louis' sweater. "My step-father told me that somebody lived close by, probably in the little cabin you can see behind the pond. I'll just pretend you live there and say that I met you when I visited the pond, or something." 

"Oh, that's where Zayn lives. Have you been by there?" 

"Not yet. I was waiting to see who came up here, first."

"Am I really that exceptional?" Louis teased, placing his nearly-empty mug on the table and lowering his feet to the ground. "Anyway, you should visit it. We could go down there together sometime if you'd like. Maybe meet Zayn."

"Calm it, I haven't even met your parents yet," Harry joked. Louis laughed easily in response, looking at Harry with a gentle gaze. 

"My mother would be enamoured by you, I'm sure," Louis complimented.

Harry didn't know if that was Louis' way of subtly telling Harry that he was fatherless, but he ignored it anyway and nodded along. "Where do you live?"

"Down in the village," Louis said, flicking a piece of fringe from his soft eyes. Harry traced the action with his eyes.

"You actually walk up here? I always thought that your Adidas jacket was for show." 

Louis nodded. "Where else would I live?"

"With Zayn?" Harry said as though it was a factual statement.

"Mate, I'd be high twenty-four seven if I lived with that guy. He grows pot for a living."

Harry's eyebrows raised on their own accord. "He's growing plants... surrounded by plants. What an icon."

"He really is, he's great." Louis smiled as though reminiscing about the geezer. 

"So..." 

"So..." Louis repeated, drumming his fingers against his thighs. Harry tried not to watch.

"Why do you have a bunch of fashion magazines?" Harry finally asked. 

Louis picked one up placed it on his lap as though having it there would explain its existence. "They're good."

"'They're good'?"

"I sometimes sketch outfit designs and shit, but they're also good to pass time."

"I see... You're a really great artist, y'know."

"I've been told, thank you." Louis gave a light smile before standing up. He said, "I wouldn't follow unless you want to inhale a lot of smoke," before taking a cigarette out, lighting it and sitting on the chair by the window as he smoked.

"So you haven't quit yet, huh?" Now that Harry had space on the sofa, he moved further into the centre and sat with his arms eagle-spread. 

"I probably never will. Hey, while you're here would you mind doing a little modelling for me? I still have to finish this." He gestured towards the canvas beside him, cigarette perfectly balanced between his fingers. 

"Sure. How do you want me?"

Louis seemed to be enlightened by the double entendre because his tongue flicked over his lips and he grinned in Harry's direction. Harry tried not to blush, reminding himself that they were practically strangers.

"Just sit on the floor." Harry followed said instructions. "And then position yourself like you are here. Legs folded in a little more..."

"Do I need to tilt my head down too?" Harry asked.

Louis was sorting through the paints in a box under the easel, but replied with a "please" as he gathered what he needed. He began to squirt paint onto his pallet and then dabbed the brush gently in the coloured substance. Harry was unable to watch since his head was lowered towards the ground, but he heard the brushstrokes on the canvas and the soft sucking of Louis' lips against his cigarette every few moments.

"Why do you smoke?" Harry asked when the puffing had long stopped, trying not to move his head. They were around ten minutes in and Harry already felt a dull ache in the back of his neck.

"Started when I was younger and never really got out of it," Louis replied simply. 

"Is it good? Any euphoria?"

"There's not really much of anything, just stale smoke. Nothing dramatically beautiful. It loses its excitement when it goes from being something you sneakily do with your mates to a full-blown habit. Wanna try it?"

Harry actually thought about it, wanted to see whether he'd feel the maturity from trying it for the first time. But he knew that he'd only end up being disappointed in himself for being such a hypocrite and condemning that other people do it and then doing it himself. "No, I'd rather not, thanks." 

"Good," Louis replied.

"When can I move?" Harry asked a few minutes later, stretching his arms out regardless of the fact that he was supposed to be keeping still.

"You may as well just move," Louis said after a moment, letting out a barely-audible sigh. "I only have to shade your outfit but I can do that without reference." 

Harry lifted his head up and stretched it towards his shoulders to relieve the aching. Louis was still dabbing paint onto his canvas in smooth motions, his cigarette frazzled in the ashtray on the windowsill. Harry crawled further forward and watched in awe as Louis transformed Harry's clothing from flat and bare to being lifelike. He also added more highlights to Harry's textured hair.

"This is so beautiful," Harry gasped. Had it not been for the wet paint, he'd have reached out to touch it.

"Thank you." Louis added shadows to the painted grass and then let the paintbrush fall into his glass of discoloured water. He had paint all over his hands and a tiny splotch on the side of his nose where he must have itched his face with wet hands. It was possibly endearing.

It was when he decided to look out of the window that Harry remembered that his parents should be home soon, and patted his pockets to check for his phone. When finding nothing but the outline of his keys, he turned to Louis. "Do you have the time?" he quickly asked.

Louis patted his thighs to presumably find his own phone, and then scanned the room quickly. "I'm afraid not. Is there somewhere you have to be?" 

"My parents went into the village, I ought to be home for when they're back or they'll start to worry," he replied sheepishly. 

Louis nodded, wiping his drying hands on his jeans and leaving brown smears on them. "It's fine, go home. I'll finish up on the details in the background."

Harry didn't know whether he should do something, like shake Louis' hand or pat his back or hug him, so he decided to do exactly none of those. He instead nodded in Louis' direction and then scurried towards the door. When he was back on solid ground, he sprinted to his house.

The door was still locked, which could either mean that his parents hadn't returned to unlock it or that they'd locked it behind them upon entering. Harry took out his own set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, stepping inside. Fortunately, the house was desolate. 

Harry spent the next hour finishing sticking his posters up and then made himself some pasta as he waited until his mother came home.

*

A few days had passed and Anne's growing concern was at it's peak. Anne had once again proposed that Harry travelled into the village with her and Des, but Harry kindly declined in hopes that he could go and visit Louis again whilst his parents were away from the house. He didn't know why he was so drawn to Louis, but he felt happy to be around him. And he didn't think that Louis minded him that much, either. They were... Pals, maybe. 

"Look, Harry, is everything okay?" Anne asked when she was about to leave the house. Her voice was partly muffled by the large grey scarf wrapped around her neck.

"What do you mean? Everything's fine."

"Ever since Gemma left for university, you've been really closed off. You know you have, Harry. If you miss her, you can always cal-"

Harry broke off her sentence by starting his own, his eyes widening at the mention of his sister, "No, no, it's not Gemma. It's nothing. I'm good, all good." He let out an uneasy chuckle as he spoke, his mother's gaze soft and full of worry.

"If it's not Gemma, what is it? Is it the move? We have our reasonings Harry, you know that." She gave him a light smile, her wrinkled hands moving to cover his.

"It's not the move, I'm fine."

Anne closed her eyes as though having an internal debate with herself. She patted Harry's hand and then placed her own back on her lap. "Just speak to me, if you're ever not okay. I could get you a therapist if you're uncomfortable speaking to me?"

"A therapist?" Harry asked, stilling. "Mum, I'm fine. I promise you." Then he added, "You know what? The next time you go into the village, I'll come. Today I just want to... Nap. It's been busy these past few weeks."

His mother's face lightened moderately and she allowed a smile to creep onto her face. "I'm glad you're making an effort. I better head off, Des is waiting in the car." She pulled away from the bottom of the stairs, brushing down her pink, felt coat. She walked towards the open door, illuminated by the sunlight. Before she closed the door behind her, she turned to face Harry and called out, "Try meditating, it helps!" With that, she was gone.

Harry waited on the stairs until he heard Des rev up the car. He waited for the crunch of gravel and grass as the car departed from the house. He went into the living room - which was now entirely decorated and looked as though it had always belonged - and peaked out of the window to ensure that they were nowhere in sight, then darted upstairs to get his house keys. He returned downstairs and pulled on his hiking boots by the front door before exiting the house, locking up, and stumbling towards the treehouse.

The weather outside was dry with cool air breezing past in bursts. The sun was out but it didn't appear to be making a difference against the icy prickles touching Harry's skin.

Harry was beside the treehouse within a minute, reaching out and gripping onto a step above him and climbing gradually up the muddy, wooden stairs. When stationary on the thick branch that made for the tiniest patio he'd ever seen, Harry saw that the door was closed. He pushed it open by the wooden to find that the sofa was empty, even the stool by the window was empty. It was deserted.

He snook in further, as though his entrance would suddenly summon Louis. He looked towards the window and noticed that there was a clean canvas on the easel, the previous one now standing proudly on the floor by the legs of the easel. Harry crept towards it and knelt so that he could see it properly in its full, completed form. The entire background had been completed in a matter of days, the trees now bursting with detail. The naturalistic colours deepened in parts and the train tracks gleamed as though iridescent. Harry traced his mini self with his index finger, feeling the bumps of dried paint under his touch. He was amazed at Louis' artistry, his capability; he had made the otherwise muddy and dull forest look like a haven.

He stood back up and rubbed at his knees whilst looking around the room for any signs of Louis being here recently. It looked as thought nobody had entered the place in a day or two, maybe since Harry had last been here himself. There were no crumpled cigarette butts, no open magazines, the place was lifeless. 

Harry slowly made his way to the other side of the room, opening the door and carefully climbing back down the stumps in the wood. He made it home and crashed onto his bed starfish-style.  

*

"You have a phone, right?" Harry asked Louis randomly the next day. 

"Yeah," Louis replied, gazing up from his latest painting. He'd started on it around half an hour ago when Harry had arrived and was now filling in a small section of his sketched outline. 

"May I have your number?" Harry asked, wondering if it was too soon for him to ask.

Louis looked at him through his fringe for a few moments with cool, blue eyes. Then he shrugged, muttering, "Yeah, sure, I guess." He ambled towards his couch and delved through the cracks, before emerging with an iPhone. He went onto his contacts so that his number was visible and handed the device to Harry as he returned to his previous stance.  

"Thanks," Harry murmured. He pulled his own iPhone from his pocket and added Louis as a contact. He started a text message to Louis, crashed his fingers down on the keyboard and sent it, then tapped on the notification on Louis' phone and saved his own number in Louis' contacts. With a smile, he passed Louis his phone back (who was now looking at him with mild confusion).

"What did you just do?" Louis asked suspiciously.

"I saved my number in your phone," Harry replied. 

Louis started tapping on his phone. "What did you want it for?"

"I came by yesterday and you weren't in, I thought it would make sense to text you in future."

Louis hummed, eyes on his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and stopped when he saw the new addition. "Really, Harry?" he asked, lifting his head up and looking at Harry with his curved eyebrows raised. "'Treehouse Friend'?"

"That's what we are, right?" Harry asked, feigning hurt. His question was partly a subtle way of genuinely asking whether they were friends, but Harry left that part out.

"Of course bud," Louis replied, "The treehouse fated us."

Not being able to detect whether Louis was being sarcastic or not, Harry chuckled.

*

The inevitable visit to the village occurred. It was Saturday, and the weather was relatively good. No wind, bright sun - a first for Britain. He dressed early, had breakfast and then flitted to the car.

The route through the forest had a happier atmosphere than it had when he had first been brought here. His mother was rambling about the people in the village, seemingly happy that Harry was going along with them. She hadn't mentioned Gemma again, or had a talk with him on the bottom of the stairs. She seemed to take his word and believed that he wanted to make an effort. He appreciated that she was trusting.

"I met this woman called Maura at a cafe we visited last week. She's lovely! She even has a son, around your age. Maybe you two could meet? Make some friends?" Her sheepish smile made Harry shrug his shoulders.

Niall was the name of Maura's son. He was a simplistic guy, settling for what was best and not for what he deserved. He was happy to comply with people and that in itself made Niall a good person, because he would never have conflict with somebody else.

Being with Niall was... Peaceful, to say the least. He had forgotten how normal people lived, out in a village, rather than secluded in a large cabin house with a boy in a treehouse for company. Niall had a proper bed; proper in the stance that it was next to a window overlooking a road. Pavement. People milling around and entering the cafe below. Life. 

Maura had brought them a mixture of scones and croissants to snack on whilst playing video games (food and gaming, seemingly Niall's strong points). Maura was an ageing woman with light hair, her nose and smile identical to Niall's. Her cafe was lovely and she appeared to be an equally lovely woman.

After visiting the cafe, Anne and Des suggested that they headed into the market. Apparently, it was better during the weekend. The excessive amount of people milling around was too uncomfortable in Harry's opinion, and he resolved that if he were to visit the village some more, it would be for Niall's company and not for large crowds.

*

The pond was iridescent, despite the thick layer of moss covering it. The water was murky but the waves still rippled beneath the verdigris surface, each punctuated by the light from the sun. Tall cattails filled the perimeter of the pond, swaying in time to the waves' melody.

The sun was out but it wasn't warm or humid, simply breezy and bright. Zayn's cabin was close by, no shy of ten metres from the pond. Harry could make out plants growing by the red-painted door, shrubs of pink roses and lone bluebells. The cabin was a little larger up close than it had looked from up in the trees, probably enough to fit a few rooms. It was definitely aesthetically pleasing.

Louis was by Harry's side, pointing out different parts of the woods and chuckling at his own jokes. He was wearing a grey tank today with black skinny jeans and his Adidas shoes, always Adidas. Wrapped around his shoulders was a darker grey jacket with blue shoulder pads the same colour as his eyes. 

"Next up, Zaynie's place," Louis called, striding towards the red door. The closer they got to the cabin, the more Harry's senses were overtaken by strong scents. He could smell the flowers, but there was an underlying smell of paint and the faintest of weed lingering in the air. Louis hesitated by the door, spun to face Harry and gave him a grin and a dainty thumbs up. 

"Are you sure he's fine with us visiting?" Harry asked, holding back. He had taken his lips into his mouth and was playing with the dry skin, hoping that Louis would detect his hesitance and take him back to the treehouse instead. 

But Louis only smiled wider, looking as iridescent as the pond and a lot more sapphire. Whilst still facing Harry, Louis gently rapped his knuckles on the door and then pushed it open. Harry scurried forward so that he wasn't left outside alone and thanked Louis for holding the door open for him.

And then... Weed.

Harry was hit by a burst of smoke as he entered the room, the puff fogging up the rest of the room. Harry could make out some black shelves in the far corner, holding what appeared to be plants. There was a window directly opposite Harry, open wide with billowing peach-coloured curtains. The floor had no carpet, only wooden panels and a patterned red rug in the centre covered mostly by a dark wooden coffee table. Beside the coffee table stood a sofa, and a television across from that. 

Then there was Zayn. When Harry diverted his eyes to his left, he saw a figure lounging on a stool by a table in what seemed to be a tiny kitchen. There was a sink behind the stool that the figure was flicking ash into, lazily as though he was already high at noon. His eyelashes were dark and his eyes were intense, unfazed by the dispersion of smoke in front of his face. His cheekbones cut through the fog, prominent and outlining his perky lips and thick eyebrows. The man's hair was long and pitch black, like the night sky if it was without stars. It was pushed back but a part by the front was curled into his face, cutting into his cheekbone. 

He was wearing a thick black jumper that was loose around his neck and hung from one shoulder, framing his caramel skin nicely. Unlike Louis and Harry, he was wearing lighter coloured trousers and had rolled the bottoms up to his calves. His feet were bare, wrapped around the stool legs. 

When Zayn noticed Harry, he smiled and his tongue poked out between his teeth. His enticing manner was overthrown with a friendliness that made Harry feel all the more uneasy.

"Hey Z, meet Harry," Louis cut in, having apparently closed the door behind him already. He walked by Harry to greet Zayn and Harry was hit with a blast of more weed. Harry let his hand flutter under his tee and he held his chest.

"Hi, Harry! Nice to finally meet you, I saw you guys moving in the other week," Zayn said, his eyes dark and glittering, aware.

"Nice to meet you, too," Harry said, opting for a small smile to ensure that Zayn didn't think he was an arrogant prick. From his peripheral vision, Harry saw Louis beckon him towards the two of them, his hand carefully hidden by his side. Harry tentatively stepped forward into a cloud of smoke. 

Louis clicked his tongue as Harry muffled a cough. He turned to Zayn and whispered muffle words into his ear. A few seconds later, Zayn's roll-up was abandoned in the wet sink with only the slightest of trails of smoke still left.

"Now that that's sorted," Louis started, his eyes light and his smile widening, "Zayn doesn't bite. You can come closer to admire his beautiful self, y'know?"

*

"What did you whisper to him earlier?" Harry asked three hours later. They were walking back towards the pond, Zayn having just retracted back into his cabin to have a long-awaited smoke.

Louis was staring straight ahead, the tip of his nose and his eyes illuminated by the oncoming sun. A single strand of hair was matted against his cheek, outlining the soft skin. His lips pulled outwards as he replied, "I just said 'he has weak lungs.'"

"Are you serious?" Harry exclaimed, stopping to push Louis lightly. Louis retaliated by gripping onto Harry's shoulders and backing him towards the pond. Despite his height, he was unfortunately stronger than Harry was and it strained Harry's biceps to push him off him. 

"Why so violent, Harold?" Louis asked once they were free from one another. 

Harry tried to distance himself from the pond so that Louis had no chance to push him in and warned, "I swear to god if you push me into that disgusting pond I'm going to bring you down with me and drown your sorry arse."

A soft bout of laughter departed from Louis' lips and he stopped walking for a second to collect himself. Harry also stopped, but to merely watch as Louis' face lit up. Harry was right about Louis being more sapphire than the sky, for his eyes were possibly the prettiest things that Harry had ever seen, for a guy.

"It worked though, didn't it? He put the smoke out," Louis commented, although Harry's eyes were too busy lingering on Louis' face to acknowledge what he had just said.

"Yeah... Zayn's place absolutely reeks of the stuff though. Hasn't he ever gotten caught?" Harry asked, trailing his eyes towards the trees in front of them.

Louis shrugged, causing his dark grey hood to bounce behind his neck. "He lives in the woods, mate."

Harry mirrored Louis' shrug and continued through the trees. Louis faltered behind for the rest of the ten minute walk back to the treehouse, kicking the grass under his feet and trying to get small rocks to hit the back of Harry's legs. 

As they got closer to the telltale tree, the train tracks came into view somewhere in the distance, hidden behind some of the other trees. Harry slowed his pace for a few moments to allow Louis to catch him up, and when the two were strolling in unison Harry turned to Louis and asked why they were never used.

Louis blinked a few times in response to Harry's question, then looked to the right where the train tracks were displayed. "I don't know," he said. "I think they malfunctioned or something."

Harry nodded and traced the gleaming metallic rails as the two of them practically reached the treehouse. "Why haven't they been ripped up?"

For a few moments, Louis simply ignored Harry as he climbed up the stairs to the treehouse. Harry followed, and when the two of them were inside the treehouse, Louis shrugged in response. "I doubt the council give a shit."

With a solemn nod, Harry diverted his eyes to the room instead of Louis' face. 

"Louis..."

"What?" Came Louis' soft reply.

"You have a hole in your wall."

With a quick flourish of his eyebrows, Louis' head whipped towards the window where Harry was looking. Correctly so, the left part of the window had broken through, and chunks of wood were strewn on the floor. Louis began to laugh, his eyebrows raised and his eyes crinkled.

"How the fuck does this keep happening?!"

"Nature."

Still smiling, Louis faced Harry. "Fuck nature." As Harry stood dumbfounded, Louis skipped towards the sofa and crashed down onto it, legs clashing against the cushion. "Come sit."

Harry sat next to Louis, who was giddy and happy as per. Harry thought it was nice that Louis was always so consistently friendly and joyous.

Pulling a magazine from under his arse and tossing it across the room, Louis grinned some more. "I'll fix the window tomorrow." 

*

To: Treehouse Friend  
Are you in the treehouse? 

A few minutes later, an answer was supplied.

From: Treehouse Friend  
Yupp 

To: Treehouse Friend  
May I come over? 

After ten minutes and a lack of response, Harry toed on some shoes and headed out. He found Louis in the treehouse, hunched over by the side of the window, causing a racket with a hammer. 

"Need some help?" Harry called, stepping closer to where Louis was. Louis turned his head and grimaced at Harry.

"I doubt you'd be able to do anything. I'm trying to screw it back on but the screws are falling straight back out."

Harry tutted, crossing his arms at the mess of screws on the floor. "That was daft," he stated. "Did you find out why it broke in the first place?"

Louis shrugged, still looking up through his fringe at Harry. The sun was half-there in the window behind him, emitting a light around his body. His skinny jeans and the lines of his shoulder blades against his thin, patterned top were prominent in the light. With an airy sigh, Louis said: "I honestly have no clue. It was probably because of the rain, it always rains on this part of the treehouse but nowhere else, probably because the other parts are shaded. Yesterday it was really sunny, maybe that's what caused it to concave."

"Beautiful analogy," Harry applauded. He eyed the hammer in Louis' hand that wasn't helping the situation in the slightest. "I think you're going about fixing it in the wrong way?"

"You think?" Louis asked sarcastically. "I'm going to fetch Zayn. Oh, and I couldn't reply to your last text because, unlike some, I don't have good internet at my disposal."

Harry grinned at the latter, and then smirked at Louis. "Is Zayn as handy as he is mellow and mysterious?" Harry asked sarcastically.

Louis smirked to himself, dropping the hammer to the ground. Holding onto the makeshift window with his right hand, he gradually arose into a standing position. "I knew you'd be in love already. But, yes, he's handy and talented. In all aspects of life."

"And you'd know?" Harry insinuated.

"Why, he dabbled in the building industry when he was sixteen. Of course I'd know if he was eligible to fix my wall." With his mock-posh voice and soft smirk, Louis was the epitome of daring. He slung the hammer over his shoulder and began to retreat. "Coming to get him with me?"

"'Course."

The walk there was a myriad of ambiguous jokes, Louis seemingly comfortable with acting as though he and Harry had been close friends for more years than he could count. Louis was the type of older friend that Harry had always dreamed of having.

When they arrived at Zayn's cabin, Harry stayed outside with the many colourful plants (the sole purpose of which to mask the scent of weed) whilst Louis bursted into the cabin exclaiming, "My wall is fucked!" Zayn, in return, spent five minutes looking for utensils and another five minutes trying to find his shoes. The two of them vacated the cabin in gorgeous stupor, blinking at Harry.

"Hey bud," Zayn announced, waving to Harry with a handful of screwdrivers and whatnots. It was clear to Harry that somebody, at least, knew what they were doing. 

*

After not hearing somebody's voice for over three months, you begin to lose sight of them. A voice is something that is unique to the person that possesses it, and not hearing somebody talk for such a long amount of time makes you wary of whether that person ever existed in the first place or whether they were just a distant memory.

So when Harry awoke to the sound of his mobile ringing and the word 'Gem' emphasised on his home screen, he was quite surprised. He sloppily picked up in his tired state and pressed the phone against his ear.

"Haz!" came Gemma's feminine and loud voice. Suddenly the memory wasn't distant. In the background, voices were uttering words and something that sounded like a piece of furniture was being scraped across a floor but Harry blocked that out, focusing only on the voice of his sister.

"Hey, Gem."

"How are things? Are you all settled over there?" she asked. Her voice was too chirpy for the morning, prickling his ears.

Harry chuckled. "We've had two months to settle, we're all doing well." He eyed his bedroom, finally finished after two months of dedication. Gemma was telling him about how glad she was that he was moving forward, and how good her uni was. But Harry was staring up at the posters around his bed, the ones he'd bought with Gemma when they were both going through their rock phases (Harry hadn't managed to let go of said phase just yet, however). Each of them had a significant memory and Harry was alienated by the fact that Gemma was speaking into his ear but wasn't visible. The memories were only memories, with her voice playing in the background.

"I've missed you," Harry cut in.

"I've missed you too, of course," Gemma replied, her spiel about her friends coming to a stop. "Have you met any new friends?"

"I met a boy."

Gemma hummed, "Is that all you're giving me?"

Chuckling, Harry replied with: "His name's Louis. I met him in a tree. Oh - I met another guy called Niall. And Zayn."

"So, plenty of friends. That's great!"

Harry hummed, a smile drifting across his face. He was proud of that fact that he'd introduced himself to a few new people because he never really used to venture into friendships.

"I just called to say that I might be visiting soon," Gemma continued. "I know that some of the mocks lasted through til' summer, but I'm officially done. So make sure I have a bedroom settled by next month!" Her girly chuckle was contagious, Harry's smile brightening.

"Of course, I can't wait to see you again!"

"And me you. I best go and call mum, then. Talk to you soon!"

"Bye, Gem," Harry called, elongating the first word. With a flurry of movements on the other end, the call went flat, and Gemma was gone once again.

*

It didn't take long for Zayn to fix the wood - three hours to be precise. And since the new panels were refreshing compared to the rest of the treehouse, they'd decided to do a few renovations. Louis had accepted Harry as his new, proper friend, and allowed him to help out with decision making since he now spent as much time up there as Louis. 

The first thing Harry decided was that they should get fairy lights.

"Fairy lights? Are we twelve?"

"Oh, c'mon Louis, they're pretty," Harry groaned.

"And how are we going to power them?"

"I'm sure you can buy battery-powered ones. They're out there somewhere." Harry gestured vaguely towards the window, a bright smile on his face. Hell, he was close to batting his eyelids.

Louis rolled his eyes, but nodded in agreement.

"What else were you thinking?" Harry asked, not bothered with the consequent look of the treehouse as long as he could take cute pictures of the fairy light aesthetic.

Louis rattled off a few other suggestions, such as buying more plain canvases to create a wall of paintings, a rug to cover up the wooden ground that often got muddy, and some throws for the couch. Harry didn't mind either suggestion, and he especially admired Louis' art and couldn't wait to watch Louis paint some more. 

Louis said that the two of them should go and shop for new stuff tomorrow, but Harry was adamant that they went today. The sun was still out, it was barely evening, and he had a little pocket money stored under his mattress - they had nothing to lose.

"I need to go and grab my wallet, though," Harry commented when Louis gave into him yet again. Louis nodded, settling on the couch, but as a second thought Harry reached down his hand for Louis to take.

"Come with me, you can meet my mother."

Louis sputtered. "Her son coming home with a random man from a treehouse? That's going to go down well."

"Stop being daft, I can pretend you live in the cabin."

Louis grinned, pale eyes glowing a radiant blue, his pink tongue peeking out. Harry blinked a few times, not realising that Louis had clasped Harry's hand and was pulling himself up.

"Let's get to it, then."

Unsurprisingly, Anne was a little confused when Harry turned up in the kitchen with Louis, but it wasn't in her nature to be condescending and after Harry explained who he was, where he lived, and how they'd met - all made up of course -, Anne had already warmed to Louis. Harry left them for a second to pop upstairs to get the brown wallet hidden under his mattress, and when he returned the two were laughing like old friends. 

"I'm ready," Harry called to Louis from the doorway. Anne's eyes flickered over to him. 

"Where are you both going?" She asked.

Harry smiled to soothe her. "Just popping into the village with Louis to buy some stuff for the cabin," he said. It wasn't a direct lie at least.

"Well, have fun! A good walk will do you good." She beamed at Harry. 

As Harry was about to head out, Anne called, "Oh, and Gemma called!"

"I know," he called loudly in reply. He closed the door and both boys began to walk across the gravel to follow the path through the woods.

"Who's Gemma?" Louis asked.

"Sister."

Harry saw Louis nod from his peripheral vision. "I have five."

"Five sisters? Holy..."

"And a brother."

Harry was stunned. The pain of missing his sister had hurt him for a long while, imagining that multiplied six times seemed like a curse.

"How old are they?" Harry asked. They were now on route to the village; Louis guessed it would take around twenty minutes to get there. Since Louis was familiar with the landscape, Harry let him guide the way.

"There's Lottie, eighteen. Fizzy, sixteen. Daisy and Phoebe are twins and they're twelve. Ernest and Doris - twins - are three."

"I'm stunned." Louis chuckled at his reaction, turning slightly to watch as Harry raised his eyebrows. "So many twins, so many weird names."

"Hey! Lottie's actually called Charlotte, so. Besides, the eldest twins have decent names."

"And you're called Louis, like a Royal," Harry teased. 

"You're named after a literal prince, Harry." The was he said his name was adorable and Harry had to muffle his smile.

It was a peaceful walk to the village. The view was beautiful, leaves on trees woven by threads in shades of green - emerald, chartreuse, moss, basil, verdigris, sage, olive, celadon. The weather wasn't particularly outstanding, but the soft blue hues gathered above were pretty and the wind tugged at the leaves to make them dance. Louis was in front of Harry, wafting through fallen leaves and lengthy grass with a trail of smoke above his head from his lit cigarette. Harry was fine with it since they were out in the open and the smoke was free to roam, but otherwise Louis stopped smoking around him.

When they were on a downwards walk towards the bottom of the hill, it felt as though they were on top of the world. The village was laid out beneath them like a puzzle, and it was liberating.

*

Fairy lights, couch throws and six canvases later, Louis and Harry stumbled back into the treehouse. Louis threw the new fluffy cream throws over the sofa and together they ceremoniously jumped onto the couch. Louis put the canvases by the side of the sofa and Harry was holding onto the fairy lights.

"Are we going to put them around the perimeter?" Louis asked.

"That's what I was planning," Harry replied. Luckily, these ones were battery powered and Harry had batteries to fit at home. "So, what are you going to paint on the canvases?"

Louis shrugged. "Maybe some more forestry. Some more portraits of you, perhaps?"

Harry smiled tentatively, slightly giddy that Louis valued him enough to paint him. 

"I could start now, if that's okay? Or do you have to head home?" Upon entering the woods, the sky had become grey and slight drizzle rolled down the base of the trees. The soft pitter-patter of raindrops were still punctuated against the wooden ceiling, the thrum almost lulling. Despite the darkness, he figured his mother would allow him to stay out now that she knew exactly where he'd be.

"I'm fine with staying a little longer," Harry responded. Louis delightfully smiled and pulled a medium-sized canvas from beside the sofa - bringing them up to the treehouse earlier had been a horrific struggle, because two of the six canvases were large in size (covering Harry's entire torso and then some).

Louis settled on the floor with his paints, canvas balanced against the coffee table. Harry was sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, purple jumper pooling off of his shoulders, and he wasn't sure whether he was supposed to pose differently or something. "Want me to move?" he asked.

Louis simply nodded his head, replying: "You had your legs crossed in the first portrait, it could be a series."

"Yeah, sure," Harry responded. He thought for a second before throwing himself sideways onto a pillow, kicking his legs out and resting his right arm against his waist. Louis was startled, stilling his paintbrush. "Or you could draw me like one of your French girls."

Louis burst out laughing, tilting his head back and shaking it wildly to rid him of Harry's bullshit. "Tempting, Harry. Maybe a little later, erotic portraits aren't quite wall material," he said lightly, his tone humorous. But it made something inside Harry swell, like when he was younger and crushing on little girls. It was unfamiliar, but welcoming. It felt like approval. 

Pushing it aside, he sat back into his prior position.

"Thank you," Louis breathed. They sat in silence for around thirty minutes with the only sound being Louis' commentary on his own art. Harry could feel his back and neck starting to ache from being poised in such a manner. But he didn't want Louis to get irritated if he started fidgeting, so he put it aside. 

Ten minutes later, Louis said: "I've got the outline and block colours sorted, we can finish it another time."

Thankful for the opportunity to move, Harry fell onto the sofa and stretched like his life depended on it. 

"It sounds disgusting when you're cracking your bones," Louis commented. Harry cracked his knuckles just to be annoying whilst Louis placed the canvas on the easel. It was barely anything at the moment, but Harry knew it was soon to be a masterpiece.

"Shift," Louis said, pulling Harry's legs from the end of the sofa  so that they thudded against the floor harshly. Louis sat where they were, slumping into the softness of the cushions.

The aching around Harry's back and shoulders subsided as he laid on the sofa, and the effects of the day were begin to wear him out. He felt his eyes begin to droop and his body sink deeper into the couch. When Louis prodded his hip, Harry practically felt engraved into the sofa, his calf a part of Louis' knee and his head merely a pillow. He could barely open his eyes long enough to seek what Louis wanted.

"Shouldn't you be heading home?" Louis murmured softly.

"Can I take a nap?" Harry almost sighed his words.

"You live five seconds away, go get into a comfy bed."

"I am comfy. And I won't be sleepy by the time I get back."

Louis groaned. "I'm waking you up in thirty minutes."

Louis let him have a little longer, waking the snoring boy after forty minutes. Harry awoke to see Louis sat in exactly the same position, somehow coping with half of Harry's body on his lap.

"'M sorry," Harry yawned, dragging his legs towards his chest to relieve Louis of the burden. He settled his head against the armrest for a few more moments, blinking to adjust his eyes to the faint moonlight.

"You should really be heading home now Haz," Louis recommended. Harry barely acknowledged the nickname.

"What about you?" 

"I may as well sleep here tonight, it's getting dark."

"Where do you piss?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Zayn has a loo," Louis explained. "And if not... I turn into a dog."

"Gross." Harry scrunched up his face and got into a sitting position. He took a second to stretch his arms and then stood completely from the couch. Louis took the opportunity to sprawl himself out.

"Goodnight, Haz."

"Night," Harry replied. He began to walk towards the door. "I'll bring you some breakfast tomorrow morning."

"I'm vegetarian," Louis called.

Harry's eyebrows quirked. He nodded, hoping that Louis would see, then opened the door and began to climb down the trunk. When safely on the ground, he took a moment to regain his composure and blink himself awake, then slowly headed home and crashed into bed.

*

Harry decided on cooking toast, scrambled eggs, mushrooms and beans. Having no way to easily take them to the treehouse, he found a lunchbox and used each of the three sections; one for the egg and toast, one for the mushrooms, and one for the beans. The fork was shoved into his pocket. He also filled a flask with coffee like Louis had done, although he didn't have any honey in his house. His mother tried talking to him on his way out but he rushed out of the door, escaping to the treehouse.

Louis was still asleep on the sofa when Harry entered. He placed the lunchbox on the table and sat beside it, watching Louis for a few seconds. His chest was heaving slightly, still covered with the white tee he wore yesterday. One hand was nestled under his head and the other was curled in front of his torso. His legs were barely covered by the cream throw. Harry really didn't want to wake him, but the food would go cold if he didn't.

"Lou," he said softly. His hand darted out to carefully tap Louis' arm. Louis stirred, rolling over so that Harry couldn't see him. Harry tried again, and when Louis faced him his eyes were open and blinking. "I brought breakfast, like I said I would."

Louis managed a half-smile and took a minute to stretch and yawn before pulling himself up. Harry nudged the lunchbox closer to him, and he took it with little fuss along with the fork. The food had gotten a little disorientated during the short journey, but Louis didn't comment, opting to nonchalantly eat in silence. Harry watched as he did so, which Louis must've found unnerving since his eyes flickered to Harry questioningly every time Harry was too intently focused. Harry noted that Louis opened his mouth considerably wide before eating, then smoothly dragged his lips across the fork and chewed small sections.

Harry diverted his eyes, hopped off the table and decided to put away all of the fashion magazines that had accumulated there. When he shoved them in the drawer by the wall, he noticed that the fairy lights were hung up across the perimeter of the wooden ceiling.

"You put them up?" Harry asked. Louis nodded with a mouth full of beans. Harry said no more.

Louis only stayed for a few hours, wanting to head home and shower. When Harry headed home himself, his parents told him that they were going to renovate the backyard, trimming the grass, putting up a new table, planting some flowers, painting the gate, etc. Harry immediately texted Louis to be wary when heading into the treehouse and told him he may not visit for a while until everything was sorted.

Three days into the renovation, Louis passed by the house as Harry was working on the grass. He headed towards the fence and called for Harry. Both Anne and Harry turned to see him, and Anne uttered a welcoming, 'Hello.' Harry went headed forward, stopping when he reached the inner fence.

"Wanna come with me to visit Zayn? Since we can't go in the treehouse," Louis asked quietly.

Harry nodded. The sun was behind Louis' head, making him squint whilst he did so. "I have to go and change my shirt or something, though. It's red hot out here."

Louis smirked. "Sweat is a good look on you."

"Gross," Harry muttered. He retreated towards his mother and told her that he was heading to the cabin. She nodded and Des eyed him. 

A fresh shirt and ten minutes later, they arrived at Zayn's cabin. They were welcomed with the very distinct scent of weed, as per, but for once Zayn was happy to go outside with the two. It was Louis that then suggested that the three of them should have a picnic by the pond.

"Like in romance novels?" Zayn piped up. In the daylight, his brown eyes shone and his skin glistened under the tantalising sun. He was truly remarkable.

"Sure," Louis remarked.

"I'll go and see what I have inside. Are you vegetarian too, or...?" Zayn asked Harry. Harry shook his head in response. 

When Zayn had backtracked into the cabin, Harry asked: "Is he vegetarian?"

"Vegan," Louis chuckled.

"We're quite the ensemble."

"You're the only stinky meat-eater," Louis joked.

"You're too fake to be vegan, what can you say?"

"I love tea too much 'm afraid."

*

Zayn, previously an unsolved mystery, was actually quite the enthralling specimen once you got to know him. 

Whilst sat beside the pond with a blue duvet used as a picnic blanket, Zayn finally opened up:

"I'm twenty-six, actually. I was born in Bradford. I grew up with wealth - I wasn't rich by any means but my parents could afford any luxuries I needed and I had a great childhood.

"When I was eighteen I started uni, got a job bartending, and met a few guys who eventually propositioned that I join their band. It was all cliché shit, playing in bars around the city, being a general lad and having fun. When I was twenty, we got a record deal," Zayn smiled at the distant memory, then his lips dropped a little. "We made an album, and we toured most of England. We even played here, once-"

"And it turns out that I went to the show and didn't realise who Zayn was until last year," Louis cut in.

Zayn nodded. "It was fun whilst it lasted, but Jamie was ran over, ended up paralysed. It was fucking tragic." Zayn was sat on the duvet with his arms outstretched behind him, his head diverted towards the sky; he let out a huff of breath. "Decided to settle down. I had money from the touring and stuff, found out about this cabin and decided to just pack up and move on. I've always wanted to be secluded, have my own little place."

Harry admired Zayn somewhat. He was full of complexities, but he was entirely down-to-earth, honest and ambitious. "Do you just stay in the cabin?" Harry asked.

"Nah, I go to piano lessons once a week, frequent the bar at the edge of the village most nights, and I work on Saturdays."

"Work?" Harry asked, perplexed. "What do you do?"

"I write."

"He writes fantastically!" Louis complimented. "He's a part-time journalist. Writes articles for a small magazine in the village, but I've told him that he should broaden his horizons. He's so good at it. You even wrote the songs for your old band, right Zee?"

Zayn nodded. You could tell that he was trying not to bask in the attention to seem modest, but he had a small smile on his face highlighting his accomplishments. "Louis, you can't talk, you submit fantastic pieces of artwork. He once held an exhibition, y'know," Zayn commented, grinning at Harry. Louis' cheeks were tinged with pink due to the appraisal. 

"What else don't I know?" Harry asked Zayn. "Are you married? Three kids?"

Zayn chuckled, finally bringing his gleaming eyes from the sun to Harry's face. "Nah, I've never particularly had a partner."

Now, Harry was mortified. Zayn bared resemblance to heaven itself, soft clouded eyes, sweet lips dipped in raspberry sauce, his face glowing radiance. Harry wasn't blind, he knew that Zayn was gorgeous. His body was alluring, legs endless; his hair resembled the ink used to write poetry, the ink used to create the masterpieces upon his skin. Harry found it absurd that Zayn had little demand.

"I thought the same," Louis commented when he saw Harry's sceptical expression. "But it's okay, he gets laid plenty in club toilets."

Zayn's eyes clenched shut as he laughed silently, his chest vibrating with the action. He looked purely blissful, and Harry wondered whether he was high at this very moment. It wouldn't matter if he was, in all honesty.

The topic quickly changed to nightclub escapades, something Harry fell silent for. He felt boyish sat by the pond surrounded by the two grown men as they talked about things he was too young to do. They were much more experienced than he was. 

Louis must've seen his discomfort, because he opted for a subtle subject change. The conversation was supposed to be focused on Zayn, but eventually Zayn starting matching Louis each time he stated a fact about him.

"Zayn has reading glasses. They're quite rounded, and he looks so pretty whilst he's reading his little romance novels," Louis mocked, reaching his arm over to delicately pinch Zayn's cheek.

"Louis has a hot mother."

"Zayn has a hot sister."

"Jerk. Louis once shat himself on a tram."

"I did not! I farted," Louis announced - Harry was giggling by then. "Anyway, you once puked on an old woman on the street."

"Only because you poisoned me. You're such a shit cook, honestly. The only reason you turned vegetarian is because you can't cook meat."

"You grow pot. 'Nuff said."

"I also grow mint, and other herbs. It's therapeutic. You have a basketball on the back of your bedroom door and you're twenty three."

"You favourite sport is badminton."

"And yours is football."

"You wrote a song about a girl in year five who rejected you. It made the album, too." Louis directed the last statement towards Harry.

"I told you that in confidence!"

"Aren't you confident anymore?" Louis seethed sarcastically. He reached out his arms and began to tickle Zayn's underarms. Zayn's arms collapsed from behind him and he ended up sprawled out with half of his body on the blanket and the other on the damp grass. Louis jumped on him and tickled until Zayn was writhing closer and closer towards the murky pond water. 

"Don't. You. Dare!" Zayn cried amidst bursts of laughter. His hair was beginning to tangle with the shrubs around the pond, a sign that he was dangerously close to plopping into the water.

Louis didn't let up, and it was only when Zayn's forehead was hit with water was it that he stopped tickling Zayn. And then he ran away into the forestry behind the cabin, Zayn's furious brown eyes staring daggers as he reached for his sopping hair.

*

"Louis seems like a really nice fellow, you should invite him over for a barbecue now that the backyard is done," Harry's mother kept insisting over the weekend. He texted Louis about it, and - of course, Louis is a suck-up - Louis agreed to come by on Monday after he took his siblings to their grandmothers.

'Hell, I'll even prepare the entire banquet myself if it means chatting with ur lovely mum (;,' Louis wrote.

'Fuck off,' Harry replied.

Anne regarded Louis' vegetarianism highly and didn't barbecue any meat whatsoever. The grill was covered with jacket potatoes, veggie burgers, peppers, corn on the cob and large mushrooms. She'd even made Harry prepare an assortment of crisps, cheese and onion rolls, and breadsticks. 

And if Harry thought the mood couldn't get any chirpier, Louis arrived at six PM wearing a blue button-up shirt and black jeans that clung to his thighs, gripping a bottle of wine and smiling broadly. Harry could tell he'd made an effort, it was almost as though the entire scene was taken from a movie. 

It was after tea, when they were sat outside on the patio listening to the soft stream of music from the television in the living room, when Louis and Harry were left alone. They were sat besides one another, thighs touching. Louis' legs were brought to his chest and Harry's were slumped in front of him. Each time their kneecaps would touch, a shiver would make its way down Harry's spine for no apparent reason. He almost felt guilty for feeling a pang in his stomach when Louis smiled at him, soft, pink lips pulled wide and intoxicated eyes twinkling under the gloomy sky.

*

Now that Anne was familiar with Louis, knew where he - supposedly - lived, and knew quite a bit about him, she was fine with Harry spending as much time as he did away from home. In fact, she was joyous that Harry was doing his own thing.

Which is why she spent time away from home, too. 

Maura and her had become closer over the past few months, and Harry's mother sometimes helped out in the café whenever she had free time. (She also kept reminding Harry to visit Niall sometime soon, but he was always busy with Louis.) Moreover, she'd been enlisted to help with the village soup kitchen which she visited daily, and it was mandatory for her that she visited the church on Sundays despite not being a Christian. Whenever she wasn't doing any of those, she was trying to add more decorations to the house, or set up family activities. Harry didn't care for them but agreed that he'd partake in plenty when Gemma came by next month.

And so, with his newfound freedom, Harry and Louis were practically inseparable. Since the barbecue, Louis had visited Harry's house a few times to lounge and hang out, and sometimes Anne prepared a meal for them in the evenings. Des still wasn't fond of the idea of Harry hanging around with strangers, which made it a relief that he was always busy with his new job.

There was still a feeling of dread whenever Louis laughed too hard, or smiled like there wasn't a care in the world. Because Harry didn't want to get attached to those moments, he didn't want to use them as excuses to cling to Louis until there was nothing left. He made that mistake with Gemma, gripping and gripping until she withered away to a new destination.

He knew it was okay to depend on somebody. He knew that he could trust Louis more now, that Louis would have his back. But there was a limit to how much of something a person could take and Harry didn't want Louis to be fed up of him. He didn't want to lose a friend because he couldn't be as independent as others could.

So whenever he got those tiny pangs, a worm of friendship writhing inside his stomach, he looked away from Louis; pulled himself away before it got too much and the two of them became nothing.

*

"No! Don't touch it!" Louis commanded as Harry reached his fingers out towards the canvas in the middle of the wall, eyeing the quote he saw the first time he entered the treehouse. 

Harry blinked towards Louis, his face expressionless. Louis himself looked a little alarmed, his eyes a fraction larger than usual. Harry retracted his arms as fast as he possibly could, but Louis still appeared unnerved.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked. All Harry had done was suggest that they replaced said quote with the new painting Louis had finally completed - the one of Harry cross-legged on the sofa. 

Louis fake smiled, Harry could tell so because it didn't meet his dull eyes. "Just peachy."

*

The month sped away with soft laughter and the sound of nature, and eventually Gemma was bounding onto the driveway with a patterned suitcase being pulled behind her. 

Harry was the first person to rush to the door, pulling it open and yanking her into his arms. She stumbled the slightest bit, nearly losing grip on suitcase, but collected herself and wrapped her arms around Harry. There was a significant change in height that wasn't prominent before, Harry being more-or-less the same size as Gemma rather than only reaching her neck as he had before. Gemma was sporting some differences too, her hair dip-dyed purple and a small silver piercing in her nose. 

"Welcome home!" Harry greeted.

"It's good to see you again," Gemma replied, ducking out of the hug with a smile. She stepped into the house and left the suitcase by the door as she trailed around the front of the house, admiring the decor. "I love these pots, so boho," Gemma commented.

"Is that my favourite young woman?" Anne called from the kitchen. She came onto the corridor and smiled widely when she saw Gemma stood by the staircase. Harry's mother greeted Gemma with a large hug as Harry had, encompassing her daughter in her arms.

"I'll take your suitcase up," Harry murmured. 

"You're a doll," Gemma replied.

Harry gripped the handle and lugged it up the stairs, his biceps bulging by the end of it. He located Gemma's new room and placed it at the end of her bed. When he retreated back downstairs, Gemma and his mother were situated in the kitchen with lemonade in polished glasses. 

"-and Chloe's going to Barbados with her family for a month. She's such a lucky cunt!" Gemma was in the middle of telling Anne who tried not to grimace at Gemma's use of profanity.

Harry stood around, unaware of what he'd bring to the conversation. They started talking about holidays, clothing and other stuff that Harry was clueless about. 

"Oh, Harry, are you coming with us tomorrow? I want Gemma to visit the village and meet Maura. We're going to have a little meet-up."

"Will Niall be there?"

"Of course."

"Then sure," Harry responded.

*

It was great seeing Niall again, he was as peaceful as ever and seemed delighted to see Harry again. Niall seemed to warm to Gemma too, and if Harry didn't know any better he'd assume that Niall was endeared by his big sister.

Niall had complimented Harry's floral shirt and Harry didn't know whether he was being sarcastic or not, but fired back with a matching compliment anyhow. Niall was wearing a pale yellow shirt and light blue jeans that really brought out his eyes. His sister was wearing dainty heels and a casual pink dress that she'd asked Harry his opinion on at least twelve times.

After the compulsory introductions and such, Maura drove them all to the restaurant she'd booked a reservation at in her work van. The restaurant was a large place packed full of people wearing formal clothing with kids running around an ice-cream vendor in the back. There were cheap chandeliers on the ceiling and decorative lights draped around wooden beams to give an atmospheric glow. A waitress dressed in a white shirt and black trousers sporting a name badge with 'Samantha' written on it eventually came over to take their orders when they'd had a chance to scan through the menu. Not wanting to offend his friendship with Zayn and Louis, Harry went for a veggie burger and chips.

During the meal, Gemma had an opportunity to share with everyone what she had gotten up to at university. Maura was delighted to find that Gemma was pursuing a career in law. "My husband's a lawyer," she stated. The business talk lead to a considerable amount of boring conversation that Harry zoned out of.

Thankfully, Niall was Harry's saving grace when it came to meal. He was sat beside him, and whenever their parents went on tangents he made sly comments or kicked Harry under the table. He also finished up Harry's chips for him.

After too much vanilla ice-cream on Harry's part, Anne called it a day. Maura drove them back to the café, where the two families parted and Anne, Gemma, Des and Harry headed towards their own car. Gemma was glowing from all the flattery she'd received, wittering away in the car ride home about how nice Maura was and how sensible her family was. Harry just really wanted to sleep. 

*

"Hey bud," Gemma greeted from the doorway, causing Harry to swivel around in his desk chair. He had been staring out of the window, watching the backyard in case Louis happened to visit the treehouse. 

"Hey Gem."

"I'm going to make a meal for us all, surprise mum for a change. Wanna help? I know you're good at baking and that." Gemma smiled lightly.

At first, Harry wanted to decline. Louis would be heading to the treehouse soon and Harry didn't want to miss him. But then he'd feel guilty, so he simply nodded his head and walked towards the door.

"Great!"

It was when he was walking downstairs behind the figure of his sister was it that Harry realised just how far he'd come. This time last year, he would've jumped at the opportunity to be by Gemma's side. Now, however, he wasn't so attached to her; he could be close to her without being a constant annoyance. He was sure that she appreciated it as much as he did.

"What did you have in mind?" Harry enquired when they were gathered in the kitchen.

"Something good," Gemma responded, as though that helped.

They ended up cooking stew and dumplings, all the ingredients homemade and served with Yorkshire puddings. Harry but his blood, sweat and tears into making sure that the Yorkshire puddings weren't a flop, knowing that everybody loved them.

Whilst they sat and waited for the stew to simmer, Harry felt Gemma watch him for a moment.

"So, you're genuinely happy and that?" Gem asked, throwing her arm on Harry's shoulder with a smile.

"I am," Harry responded, honestly.

"I should meet your friends. Niall seems really nice, and I don't doubt the rest are too."

Harry nodded, agreeing. "Niall's really carefree." And then he added, "You might see Louis around, he visits sometimes."

"Oh, that's nice. What about the other guy?"

"Zayn? He's quite the mysterious type."

Gemma chuckled, the sound radiating against Harry's cheeks and spreading a warmth that he hadn't felt in so long. "He sounds dashing."

"I agree, he is," Harry responded.

Gemma's smile returned, more sympathetic-looking now. "I'm just glad you're better."

Harry smiled back, ignoring the tightness at the back of his throat.

Gemma didn't mention why he was better. She didn't mention how for an entire two years he struggled with anxiety. He'd stay inside most days, because when he was outside his mind would be in a constant cycle of worry and he'd be thinking all sorts of things: Are my friends hanging out with me to be polite? Am I bothering them? Was the thing I just did embarrassing? And his stomach would churn around large crowds out of the fear that he'd be sticking out like a sore thumb, that somebody somewhere would be watching him.

He'd barely get any sleep, either. He'd stay awake at night over-analysing every little thing, worrying about stuff that even he knew weren't all that major. It was as though his mind was being forced to replay his fears, as though he was a television being switched back to the same mundane channel every time he tried to change it to something calming. And if he did eventually manage to score some sleep, he'd be awoken by a bad dream or a cold shiver creeping along his side. It left him fatigued, worn-out, restless.

He was only able to wrench away from the feeling when he was with Gemma, when she was whispering in his ear with a soothing voice and taking his mind off it all. She was like a magnet of hope that he was pulled towards, restraining him from bad thoughts. He would tell her things he'd never talked about with anybody else and she would gladly listen, offering sisterly advice and hugs when they were needed.

And then she was accepted into the university of her dreams, to study something that would take her above and beyond. Harry knew that she felt guilty about leaving him as he was, but she had helped massively already and she deserved to be happy, too. So she waved goodbye with teary eyes and headed to someplace better.

Anne was the one who cared for Harry after that. She took him to see a therapist for the first few months after Gemma left and it helped him a lot, to talk to somebody whom wasn't judgemental towards him, to let everything out. The therapist gave him some advice about his sleeping habits and handed him some tablets to help him stay rested and to fight the constant swarm of images that appeared every time he closed his eyes. 

Nothing had ever truly 'fixed' him. He sometimes still woke with a sweat, or got anxious in public, or frowned he was with Louis and was reminded about how uneducated and inexperienced he was compared. But he was nearly almost better; he was making friends and being independent and getting over his fear of change.

*

"We're going on an adventure."

"What kind of adventure?" Harry asked warily. He'd only just awoken, his senses distorted. He had to blink rapidly when he'd opened his front door to find Louis, clad in a blue hat with a matching backpack slung over his shoulders. 

"A secret one. Go get dressed." Louis distastefully eyed Harry's white tee and drooping boxers.

"Give me five," Harry groaned. He back-pedalled upstairs and pulled on some of his older jeans, not caring if he ultimately ruined them via this 'adventure'. He pulled off the white tee and replaced it with a plain black one, then toed on his sturdy hiking boots. After ensuring that his bedroom door was safely closed, he popped into Gemma's bedroom to tell her that he was heading out and to tell his mother when she awoke so that she didn't fuss over him.

"So, are you going to tell me where we're going now?" Harry asked as he closed the front door and stumbled down the cobbled driveway.

"Nope," Louis answered. He looked over his shoulder at Harry's attire, his eyes travelling over Harry's torso and thighs, scouring his legs and feet. Harry felt a collective shiver encompass his entire body. "I'm glad you dressed suitably for the occasion," Louis finally said.

"I don't do well with water," Harry stated, hoping Louis wasn't about to throw him into a river or something.

"Don't worry, we won't come across any."

Harry dragged his feet lazily after Louis, following him past the treehouse and even beyond that. When they passed the cabin, Harry sent Louis a perplexed look. "How far are we going to walk?"

Louis turned back around and flashed Harry a smile. "To the end of the woods."

"The end? Of the woods? How much stamina do you think I have?"

"You'll be fine," Louis responded with an eye-roll.

It took them twenty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds to reach the end. Harry had recorded via the stopwatch on his phone. They ended up at a cliff, the rocky surface towering over them.

"You're kidding me," Harry muttered.

"You're not afraid of heights are you? You do actively visit a treehouse, so..."

"No, but this has got to be a piss-take, I woke up half an hour ago."

"Exactly, awake. Alive, thriving. Ta-da!" Louis mocked, throwing his arms out to motion towards the cliff. 

"If I fall and crack my head open, it's all your fault," Harry murmured, and then he began to walk steadily towards the rocks. He let Louis take the lead again, whom directed him towards an opening at the base of the cliff that acted as a slope to get onto a higher section. They silently climbed higher, using chunks of rock to their advantage like stepping-stones. The journey to the top was less hectic than it had appeared. When Louis reached out a hand to pull Harry over the edge and onto flat land, Harry rolled onto his back and let out a long-awaited sigh.

Since it was early morning, the vast space was desolate. Louis had originally wanted them to see the sunrise, but the sun was already low in the sky. Soft tufts of grass covered the area of the cliff, providing a soft shield against the sharp stone.

"Let's go to the other end, I bet the view's pretty," Louis suggested. He helped Harry up from his laying position and guided him forward. It took a further ten minutes to reach the other side, but it was more than worth it. The sun was slightly askew from where they ended up sitting and the rays transcended upon them. The sky itself was pale in its morning glory, cloudless.

Harry didn't want to sit too close to the edge because the drop to the grassy bank below was too deep for his linking. Louis, however, decided to be brave and sat with his legs dangling over the border, grinning over to Harry as though he was untouchable. He truly looked it with the sky as his backdrop.

The slight breeze in the air filled the silence where Harry's voice could not, the boy too mesmerised by the view and his heart beating fast from the journey up there. Louis eventually scooted closer to Harry, coming to sit beside him so they could watch together.

"I'm so glad it's sunny," Louis eventually said. "The weather forecast said rain, but when I set off from home this morning it looked really nice, so I went back and grabbed some stuff so I could bring you up here," he explained.

"Do you come here often?" Harry asked. He didn't know that this place even existed; the trees cut off his view of anything beyond the twinkling pond.

"Rarely, but it's relaxing."

Harry hummed in agreement. The more he overlooked the sky, the less tired he felt. He felt a sense of excitement of sorts, being so high up above the rest of the sleeping world.

Louis began to softly chuckle beside him, and Harry turned to see what was so funny. He caught Louis' eyes, and the blue was no different than gazing into the sky itself.

"What?" Harry asked, drawing his eyes away from Louis'.

"Nothing," Louis replied sweetly. He gave Harry a quick tight-lipped smile and looked into the void of ivory sun.

Harry was endeared by how interconnected Louis' smile and eyes were. Whenever he smiled broadly, noticeable crinkles appeared by his eyes which set off a glimmer in his irises. His dark lashes framed his eyes, long and luscious. Harry liked them because they were feminine, like the soft curves of Louis' body and the sweep of his auburn-tinted hair. At least, he hoped he was attracted due to his femininity, because that's all Harry had ever known.

After a short while of gazing at the sky, Louis opened up his backpack and took out a large Tupperware box. He placed it on the grass between the two of them and took the lid off to reveal sandwiches and crisps.

"I didn't know what you liked," Louis admitted. "So there are some cheese sandwiches, some ham and some salad-y ones."

"I thought you were vegetarian," Harry said regarding the ham sandwiches sitting at the bottom of the box.

Louis shrugged. "You aren't."

Harry smiled, happy that Louis was willing to do something he didn't like to suit Harry's tastes. "There's no point in me eating ham when there are other choices here," Harry said.

Louis' gaze flickered to Harry and he smiled endearingly. He took the ham sandwiches from the bottom of the pile, opened them and flicked the meat onto the grass to the left of him, followed by chunks of bread. "The pigeons can have it."

*

After safely climbing back down the cliff, Louis announced that he had to go and pick up his siblings from his grandmothers, and walked Harry to his house before heading downhill. It had begun to rain on the way back like Louis had previously mentioned and Harry was quick to enter his house to escape it.

When he was in his bedroom, he laid flat on his bed and pondered over his recent thoughts regarding Louis. His mind began to work on overdrive, overanalysing the simplest things until Harry eventually screeched into his pillow and stood up from his bed.

It couldn't be happening, could it? 

The way his body reacted to Louis was a problem. But he had such blue eyes, such soft lips, such a gentle figure. He was always kind towards Harry, always made him feel welcome. Harry also came to the realisation that Louis wasn't the only person he'd seen in a different light - Zayn was gorgeous, Niall was charming. The only difference was that everybody else in the world probably thought that about them, too, and so Harry wasn't particularly worried about his feelings. But not everybody else in the world would've memorised the exact shade of blue in Louis' eyes.

And there was a flaw in his theory: Louis was male. He was unequivocally male: Stippled hair across his jaw and upper lip, rugged biceps, a rough tinge to his voice. He also hadn't shown any signs of mirrored attraction, tacking 'mate' onto the ends of words like a platonic friend would, and not becoming intimate to the extent that something was strange, different, wrong. He acted liked all of Harry's previous mates had, like a friend. 

Not only that, but there was a noticeable age difference. Harry was seventeen, he barely knew anything about the world. He hadn't experienced all his firsts, hadn't drank alcohol or raved at three AM in the morning. Louis was twenty-three, he'd probably passed out from drinking, had too many one-night stands to count, had jobs, drove, irresponsibly smoked weed. If he knew how Harry felt, he'd run a mile; Harry was a kid.

Harry followed the thrum of music out of his bedroom, walking along the landing until he was stood outside of Gemma's room. It took him a while to finally open it, taking deep-breaths in and out to brace himself. Yet he knew, in his heart of hearts, that Gemma would be supportive of anything he ever did. So, he knocked lightly on the door and pushed it open.

Gemma was sprawled on her bed, flicking through a magazine with music streaming from her stereo. Since she'd been here, she'd managed to transform the room from bare to busy. Tie-dyed silks hung across the walls, pale pink curtains hung over the windows and a fluffy blue rug covered most of the floor.

Gemma's eyes flickered upwards. "Hey Haz," she greeted politely.

Harry inhaled deeply in preparation. "Gem?"

The smile on Gemma's face was replaced with a look of worry as she rolled over into a sitting position. "Is everything okay?"

"I dunno," he admitted. He walked further into the room and sat on the edge of her bed. He could feel Gemma's eyes survey him frantically. She reached out and touched his shoulder, subtly rubbing circles into his skin like she used to whenever he went to her with a problem. 

"You can talk to me, y'know?" Gemma said calmly.

"I know. I just, don't know how to come out with it."

"Start off with the problem," she suggested.

Harry could feel a tightness in his chest. "The problem is... A boy."

"A boy? Is he saying crude shit?" Gem replied, going into attack-mode. Harry had to shake his head before Gemma raced out of the house to find this nonexistent bully and bring him down. It almost made him want to laugh, but he couldn't.

"He's not doing anything wrong. It's the opposite really."

Now Gemma was utterly clueless. "You'll have to explain a little more."

"He's... Pretty," Harry eventually stated, his voice coming out unevenly.

"Do you... like... this guy?" Gemma asked, blinking.

Harry shrugged, then nodded. "Only a little. But it's weird, I've never felt it before."

Gemma let out a sigh of relief, as though she was genuinely worried that Harry was victim to bullying. When Harry sought her eyes, she was smiling as though he hadn't just said something that made his own heart stammer in his chest.

"There's nothing wrong with that, Haz. It's all natural."

"It doesn't feel natural, is the thing. If it felt natural I'd be fine with it, I wouldn't be sat here imploding." 

"You just have to get used to it a bit. Are you thinking of telling this guy?"

Harry shrugged. He hadn't really thought about telling Louis. If he told him anything, it would be that he was experiencing something new with his sexuality, not that he was attracted to him. Although his sexuality most likely wasn't, he was sure that him liking Louis was a phase until he experimented more deeply with other people in time. 

Yet, he probably should tell Louis. He didn't want Louis to be friends with somebody that was untrusting. And if Louis couldn't support whatever Harry was, then perhaps Harry would've saved himself. 

"I'll try to tell him," Harry promised.

*

Harry gave himself a week to think things through. He thought about all of his options, wondering about the possible outcomes of each of them.

During it, Harry and Louis met up four times. Harry couldn't deny to himself that he was attracted to Louis. On one instance Louis was painting and giggling and Harry was sat back, awe-struck. What Harry felt may have been one-sided, but he found them entirely significant. 

By the end of the week, he was pretty confident that he wasn't straight, and he didn't want to bottle it up inside of him for any longer than he had to because it only dizzied and worried him.

Before venturing off to tell his closest friends, he went to speak to his mother about it first. She was sat in the living room watching daytime television with a mug of piping tea after a long day helping out at the soup kitchen. When Harry entered the room she patted the seat beside her and Harry obediently sat down.

"Everything okay honey?" Anne asked, bringing an ageing hand up to twirl a piece of Harry's hair. It reminded him that he should probably trim it, it exceeded the point of his ears and was starting to curl around his neck.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just have something to tell you," he said. Unlike how he hesitated before telling Gemma, he came straight out with it to his mother because honesty was the best policy when it came to her: "I'm not straight."

Anne's hand stilted in his hair, before she was sitting up properly and wrapping her arms around him. Harry's voice was so quiet when he said it that he was surprised that she'd heard him, but her muffled voice in his ear said otherwise.

"Oh darling, you know I'll always support you, right? You're my baby boy."

Harry gulped down his worry, bringing his arms up to reciprocate the hug. He felt a warm wetness rolling down his cheek, salty tears creating a tiny patch on his mother's cardigan. Harry was glad that he was surrounded by amazing people, unlike some folks out there whom wouldn't have been given such a kind reception from their family if they came out in the manner that he had. His mother was brought up by honest values, and she'd done a good job of teaching those to her children.

"If my religion taught me anything," Anne said, "It's that kindness is the basis of all good. The fact that you're open with me allows me to be open with you, to love you as a mother should. No matter who you are, or what you do in the future, you'll always be my son. I'll always respect you and love you as you are."

Anne held Harry in her arms until eventually, Harry couldn't distinguish his tears from his face.

*

'Are you at the treehouse?' Harry's text to Louis read.

'No, just about to set off. Gimme 20 (:'

The wait made him anxious. He was sat on his bed holding his phone to keep checking the time, and he kept on thinking about the many ways that Louis could end their friendship after finding out about Harry's secret.

Exactly twenty minutes after Louis sent his message, Harry was out of bed and rushing towards the door. He pulled on his converse and burgundy jacket and exited the house. He was walking down the driveway when he noticed a figure far-off in the trees. He steadily walked towards them, recognising familiar brown hair tucked away under a teal hoodie. Louis saw Harry and smiled, quickening his pace until the two were walking in unison. 

"Just had tea," Louis said, supplying a reason for why he wasn't already in the treehouse.

The two reached the unmistakable tree and Louis climbed up first, holding the door open for Harry which he then closed as he followed Harry onto the sofa. 

Louis shrugged off his hoodie, revealing a graphic tee beneath. Harry looked away.

"I have a question."

"What question?" Louis asked. He slumped back into the verdigris seat and looked at Harry questioningly. 

"Who made the treehouse?" Harry asked.

Louis shrugged. "I happened to find it one day, just like you did. I'm surprised by how well hidden it is, in all honesty. But I think I've worked out the mechanics."

"Which are?"

"Well," Louis continued. "The tree itself has a really wide top, so inside here happens to be rather spacey. I'm betting that the creators had to cut the branches below, because there aren't any ingrown branches coming through the structure, and hopefully they're stunted so they don't break the wood or anything." Louis kept checking to see whether Harry was listening, as though Harry cared. He was looking out of the window behind Louis' head, mentally preparing himself. "Anyway, the window part," Louis turned to look in the same direction as Harry before looking back, but nothing came out of his mouth. 

He had suddenly stopped talking, acknowledging the way Harry was still aimlessly staring out of the window.

"What's up?"

Harry dragged his eyes from the gloomy sky to Louis' shoulder. He stayed silent and Louis placed a gentle hand on his thigh, urging him to look at him.

What Harry was about to say was made a hundred percent harder by Louis' hand resting on his leg. Harry quickly looked down to glance at the bumps of his knuckles and the ridges of his skin before bringing his eyes up to the sapphire gemstones of Louis'. Louis' touch was emitting adrenaline that cascaded through Harry, circling his body heatedly, making his cheeks hot.

"Harry, you're scaring me," Louis said. And it was understandable, because Harry was looking at him with a dead-eye, motionless and blank. He blinked a few times to regain focus on Louis. 

"I have something I need to tell you," he said. "And if you don't like it, I'm fine with that. If you don't want to be friends, even, I'll gladly accept it."

Louis was probably questioning the entirety of their friendship by this point. Harry felt bad for making his shitty feelings seem superior when he was the only one that was affected by it.

"I'm not going to stop being you're friend. Just say it."

"Okay, so..." Harry inhaled, as he had done the previous two times. "I-I'm... Bisexual. I think? I don't really know-"

Louis let out a resolute sigh. "Harry, I thought you were about to tell me that you have a devastating illness or something. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me." He removed the hand from Harry's thigh and Harry could finally breathe.

"You're okay with it?" Harry asked, and it was as though a rainbow had overtaken the dark, murky thunderstorm in his head. Louis wasn't kicking him out of the treehouse, he wasn't falling out with him. Louis was fine with him. Harry let out one of the biggest sighs he'd probably ever emitted and shoved his head into the couch.

"Now's probably a good time to tell you that I'm, um, gay?" Louis said sheepishly, and Harry suddenly started to laugh into the couch. He felt like he was hyperventilating. He was on cloud fucking nine. 

Louis reached out an arm and brought Harry closer to him, so that Harry was practically on his lap with Louis' arms wrapped around his shaking body. Harry managed not to cry, but he definitely teared up under the blanket of Louis' body. He felt that he could trust Louis now more than ever.

Eventually, Harry pulled away from their embrace and beamed at Louis. "Thank you."

"What for, I didn't do anything," Louis responded with a slight shrug. He was so pretty - pretty, pretty, pretty - amongst the backdrop of fairy lights and darkening sky. Harry's breath began to steady.

"Just, thank you."

*

Harry was glad that it was venturing further into August, because that was when the sun was at its peak and the rain diminished. It was the perfect weather for barbecues and trips to the village, which Harry's mother made him do plenty. 

Ever since he came out to his family, everything felt a lot more relaxed. It was like he had been hiding something from them even before he knew it, and now everything was settled and nice and they could all enjoy one another's company. It was the same with Louis, whom Harry spent a lot of time with in the week following his announcement. Louis would attend family barbecues or visit the markets with Harry in the village, and if Harry was a little too close or happened to admire Louis a tad too much, nobody noticed because of how close they were. 

Harry was also invited to Louis' house the week after. He was met with six kids who questioned him plenty. He found that he was around the same age as Lottie, the eldest, and she seemed like somebody he'd get along with perfectly if given the opportunity. The second oldest sister was pretty and educated, but lurked away in her room whilst Louis and Harry occupied downstairs. The others were significantly younger and took to Harry's curls, asking him if he was a girl and why he had long hair until Louis shooed them away with his warm voice and delicate fingers.

Moreover, Gemma was halfway through her visit. In two weeks, she'd be driving back to London to be with her friends. Harry wasn't all that upset anymore, but he made sure to spend enough time with her so that he didn't regret it in the future.

All-in-all, August was turning out to be a really nice month.

*

"I feel like we should just have a shrine of you on the wall," Louis chuckled.

They were stood by the wall opposite the sofa, the one with the canvas in the centre. Louis was finally getting around to putting up the rest of his masterpieces and most of them starred Harry since Louis liked painting him. Louis himself was currently stood on a chair that they'd brought from Harry's house (bringing it over had been a nuisance since it was pretty hard to hide a treehouse when you were lugging a chair into one) waiting for a nail.

"We should cover all of the walls with my face," Harry said sarcastically, leaning over to take nail from the little pot Louis balanced on the drawers. 

"That would be amazing," Louis agreed. Harry passed him the nail and buzzed at the touching of their fingers, withdrawing and placing his hands by his side. Louis used a hammer to shove the nail into the wood, then hung the last painting.

"There," said Louis and he plopped off of the chair. 

The newer paintings surrounded the quote. There were some of Louis' nature-themed pieces, an old painting of Zayn's hand and a few of Harry scattered across the wall. The skill and precision in each one was magnificent, and as a whole Harry felt as though he was looking at a famous art exhibition.

"Amazing," Harry breathed. Louis nudged his arm and smiled and Harry felt as though he'd ingested an entire tub of honey by just looking at how sweet Louis. 

*

"Lionel Richie's in town," Gemma announced excitedly. Harry was lounging on his bed, the image of Lionel somewhere on the myriad of posters above him.

"This town? Does he even know it exists?"

Gemma rolled her eyes. "We're going. I made mum book the tickets, and she's coming too."

Excitement suddenly surged through Harry. He'd been to a concert of his before with Gemma when they were younger, but he hadn't managed to experience the thrill of a concert in years. Gemma jumped onto his bed and began to scream. Loudly. 

*

Harry was glad they purchased the fairy lights. When Harry put in the batteries, they illuminated the room with a calming glow and brought out the emerald flecks in Louis' eyes. Louis, who was currently being an annoyance.

"I still think you should take me," Louis said.

"It's a Lionel Richie concert, Louis. Only old biddies listen to him anyway."

"Including yourself? And Gemma, she seemed excited."

"That's because she's an old biddy on the inside." 

Louis rolled his eyes. "The last concert I went to was when Zayn and his band performed."

"Well, I went to see The Script a few years ago, they were amazing."

"See, and you won't even take me to see Lionel Richie," Louis whined, although they both knew that Louis didn't care for Lionel at all.

"I'll take you to see him in a few years boo," Harry teased. Louis pulled his bare foot from under Harry's legs and began to prod his stomach with it. Harry writhed away and kicked back with his own feet.

Louis sat up and began to climb over Harry, outstretching his fingers to tickle Harry's sides. Harry squirmed away from the uncomfortable feeling, trying not to bark with laughter when the sharp prodding of Louis' fingers subsided into extreme tickling. 

"S-Stop!" Harry screamed, his body wriggling under Louis'. Louis continued to tickle him, moving his fingers lower down across Harry's hips. He eventually let go when Harry's head thudded harshly against the chair and tears streamed across his face. 

Louis' body went limp above him, and he simply laid with his head in the crook of Harry's neck whilst Harry heaved to intake oxygen. 

"I'm tired," Louis whined, shuffling on Harry's body until he found a more comfortable position. 

Harry's arms remained by his sides, albeit a little uncomfortably with the weight of Louis pressing against them. 

After five minutes of laying there, Harry's right arm began to feel staticky and he knew he was destined to get pins and needles. He tried to budge it from beneath Louis' chest but it was stuck in place. Louis raised his head so that Harry could see his face peering out under his fringe, and then he lifted his body from Harry's so that Harry could move his arm.

"Thanks," Harry murmured, not wanting to break the moment.

"You can cuddle me, y'know. I don't bite," Louis replied calmly. Harry wrapped his right arm around Louis' waist tentatively and Louis warmed to the gesture, putting his head back against Harry's chest. Harry could feel the vibration of each breath Louis took against his arm, each heartbeat. His entire body was swarming with electricity vibrant enough for Louis to feel. But eventually, Louis' breaths began to get steadier and Harry figured that he'd fallen to sleep. 

Harry really tried to do the same, knowing that if his mother was going to go ballistic at him tomorrow for sleeping out without warning her, then he may as well enjoy his freedom whilst he could. But the tug of Louis' cheek against his chest was entirely too prominent.

*

Harry thought that Louis was beautiful. 

He had such soft hair that was often flicked towards the right side of his face. It was a chestnut colour that had a hint of auburn whenever under direct sunlight. It reminded Harry of the squirrel he saw a long time back. 

Also, Louis' eyes were comparable to anything glistening. Gemstones, the sky, rivers, planets, etc. They were richly alive hues of blues and shimmering galaxies, vast and abstract. When they were closed, thick black lashes casted shadows on the supple skin of Louis' cheeks. 

Furthermore, Louis' figure was enticing. His shoulder blades jutted into Harry's bicep, his hips into Harry's thighs. There was a perfect slot in Louis' waist that accommodated to Harry's arm so that he was able to hold him close whilst he slept. 

And Louis looked even more endearing in the morning, with puffy eyes and puffy lips, blinking warily as the sun shone a light that danced on his lips. When Louis pulled his face away from Harry's chest, he left watery residue on Harry's tee, but Harry didn't mind at all because he was completely taken away with the beauty of it all.

"Sorry, I slobbered all over you," were the first things Louis said that morning. Harry simply smiled, stretching his arms behind his back.

He'd never slept whilst holding something as precious, but it could quickly become a new hobby of his.

(His mother, indeed, was pissed that he didn't alert her about his spontaneous sleepover.)

* 

"The thing is, I find you to be really pretty. Like, really really pretty." Harry groaned, mentally scrapping what he'd said. He began to start over. "I have feelings for you, which kinda started the whole 'who am I' debate I had going a few weeks ago."

"Harry, you sound like a dork."

Harry swivelled around in his bed, glaring at Gemma who was leant against his door frame. 

"What do I say?" Harry whimpered.

"The last thing was a little better," Gemma said.

"I sound stupid. He doesn't even like me." 

"Hey bud... You never know, alright? Just try."

"It's going to end in heartbreak," Harry notified.

"I'll be here to stitch you up." 

*

He was about to do it. He was about to inevitably ruin the best friendship he had.

Then again, he'd thought the exact same thing when he told Louis he was bisexual, only for Louis to be completely fine with it all. Except, this time what he had to say involved Louis. It would only end with them having an awkward, damaged friendship if Harry was one-sidedly pining over his best friend.

Harry scurried towards the tree, grabbed ahold of the blocks in the wood and climbed to the top. He knew that Louis was probably sat on the sofa, mere metres away. Harry hesitated before pushing open the door and when he was inside he stood at the entrance, leaving the door open so that he could run away if necessary. 

"Hey," Louis said, raising his eyebrows in confusion when Harry didn't come any closer. 

Out with it, then. "I-I... I think you're pretty. I mean, you're a nice person, really nice. And, well, I - the feelings, that I have for you, kinda led me to realise that I was perhaps bisexual? Um, it was a big part, I guess. I know it's kind of stupid." His nerves had gotten the best of him. Harry looked at the ground, listening to Louis' footsteps as he gradually arose from the sofa and made his way across the room. "I just hope we can be friends, despite it, I don't want thinks to be awkward at all." Harry could see Louis' feet now, covered by black socks. 

"You always take the most complex route on an easy journey," Louis commented. His hand slid past Harry's body to pull the door closed, the cool air that had been snaking around Harry's body suddenly gone and replaced with dread.

"What do you mean?" Louis' feet inched closer.

"I can barely understand what you're on about," Louis replied. 

"I was saying that... I have a crush on you, sorta."

"Is that so?" Louis responded. But his voice was light with an air of laughter. Harry brought his eyes up and saw that Louis didn't appear bothered. He was standing close, his beautiful eyes nearly level with Harry's own, and Harry could almost feel Louis' breath on his lips. Deciding that, fuck it, if Louis could act all smarmy then why couldn't he, Harry pulled their bodies flush together. His arms snaked around Louis waist and his palms rested flat-out on Louis back. He closed his eyes and dragged his lips against Louis, feeling the delicate skin of Louis' peachy lips. His tongue darted out to try and get Louis to comply, but Louis appeared to be at a standstill. Harry brought his head back and unhooked his arms, wondering if he finally did it, if he finally fucked it up. With baited breath, he stood.

And then Louis was wrapped his arms delicately around Harry's neck, and Harry's veins were coursing with adrenaline, his heart was thrumming and his ears were pounding with something that was too harsh on his frail senses.

Once again, their bodies collided. The pudge of Louis' stomach and thighs were pressed against Harry almost sensually. Louis pinched the end of one of Harry's curls and pulled it lightly, which caused a sound to be drawn from the back of Harry's throat. Whilst Harry whimpered due to the tugging on his hair, Louis took the opportunity and melted their lips into one unity. Harry was suddenly being shoved back against the door as Louis kissed him and tugged at his hair and worked their lips together, his tongue occasionally gliding against Harry's bottom lip. Behind his eyes, Harry saw the universe: He saw stars imploding and the galaxies and Louis and Harry amongst it all, kissing with delicate touches and a heated passion. 

Harry stoked a line down Louis' waist with his right hand, his left hand content with grabbing onto Louis' squidgy arse through his trousers. The tugs in Harry's hair were getting more desperate and needy, and Louis let out a whimper when Harry had to break their lips apart to breathe.

"I didn't think you felt the same," Harry admitted between frantic breaths.

"Neither did I," Louis said, resting his head against Harry's heaving chest. "But then I woke up next to you." Louis hand removed itself from Harry's hair and rested next to his head, gripping onto Harry's cashmere jumper. 

"I think I've always had an attraction, maybe," Harry confessed, thinking back to their first meeting when Louis had sopping hair and dainty hands.

Louis exhaled against Harry's chest and Harry felt the heat spread across his body.

"I should call Gemma, she thinks I'm destined for heartbreak."

"I'd never break your heart, Harry."

"Good," Harry whispered.

*

For the following few days, Harry and Louis continued as friends, much to Harry's dismay. Louis sometimes subconsciously played with Harry's hair or pulled him close or platonically placed his hand on Harry's thighs, but there wasn't anything intimate; it was driving Harry to a point of madness which he'd surely bypass and fall, fall, fall.

*

The Lionel Richie concert was even better than Harry thought it would be. Anne had made them all wear large black tees with Lionel's face on it, which received them some looks from the people that were wearing less humorous attire. 

The place was thriving. Harry expected it to be deserted due to the fact that it was a smaller town, but he assumed that people from neighbouring towns had come to crowd in this tiny venue for the night. Throughout the evening Harry was nearly torn apart from his mother and sister multiple times, but he always managed to find his way back to them.

Besides, nothing mattered more than when the lights dimmed and Lionel came onto the stage. The thunderous sound of cheering was harsh in Harry's ears but everybody soon hushed as the crowd were shrouded in darkness and the opening chords of 'Running With the Night' beginning to play.

When 'Three Times a Lady' began to play, Gemma gripped onto Harry's fingers and screamed out the lyrics, urging Harry to sing along. Anne adored that song more than anything else, because it reminded her of her first husband and the bewildering memories they had shared together before his death. Harry never really knew his father, but he didn't doubt that he was an amazing man.

When the lights finally ploughed through the room, it was as though everyone was being pulled out of a trance. Everyone piled out of the venue silently, submerged in whatever thoughts they held. 

*

'Do u wanna go back up to cliffs to see if we catch sunset?' Louis texted on Friday. Gemma was leaving on Sunday and Harry was helping her to pack in advance. Harry discarded one of the dresses he'd been folding and typed out a text in reply.

'Sure (:'

Louis' outfit was quite possibly the most seductive thing Harry had ever seen in his life. He came flouncing up the hill wearing red shorts with black detailing. They spread tight across his arse and ended mid-thigh. A plain black polo covered his chest and he was wearing grey boots that reached just past his ankles.

"Nice shorts," Harry said immediately after meeting Louis.

"Thanks." Louis smirked. 

They walked silently towards the edge of the woods, their arms occasionally brushing together. 

Louis was ahead of Harry when they were clinging up the cliff, and Harry didn't mind in the slightest. Whenever Louis bent over a tad, the red shorts he was wearing stretched across his arse nicely and Harry had a really great view. Not that he'd admit to staring.

Unlike the first time they'd climbed up there only to have missed sunrise, there were streams of red and salmon across the sky, indicating sunset. When the two made it to the opposite end of the cliff and Harry sat by the edge of the cliff watching the sky depart, it was almost like he was watching Louis paint. The way that the sky transformed from blue to a myriad of pinks, yellows and oranges reminded Harry of the way Louis stroked paint against a canvas and created art.

Louis shrugged his backpack from his shoulders, looking away from the sky to unzip it.

"More sandwiches?" Harry asked, turning to watch Louis' movements.

"No, actually," Louis said. He pulled out the same Tupperware box containing four large chocolate muffins. "My mother baked them earlier and I thought I'd bring some."

Harry perked up, taking a muffin when it was handed to him. "Much appreciated."

It was hard to talk with a muffin in his mouth, so Harry decidedly stopped attempting to. He watched as the sun gradually dispersed beyond the endless field of grass below them. There was a little cottage or something to the east of where they were sat, the windows glinting under the glare of the sun. Harry hadn't noticed it before.

"I love watching the sky, it's so pretty."

"So are you," Harry said, deadbeat. Then he crushed the bun case in his palm and let it roll past his legs. "But you should paint it. The sky." 

Louis' eyes flickered to Harry's. "I wouldn't be able to bring all my art stuff up here," he said sadly.

"Take a picture of it," Harry suggested. He pulled out his own phone and opened the camera app. He positioned his phone vertically, tapped the sky to focus, and snapped a picture.

"That's really good," Louis applauded when Harry showed him. "Do you do photography or something?"

Harry shrugged, pocketing his phone. "I dabbled in it last year out of boredom."

Louis nodded. "You should continue dabbling in it."

Harry smiled thankfully in Louis' direction, whose head was directed towards the sky. Red hues from the sun were reflecting from the high points of Louis' face; the tip of his nose was streaked with scarlet and his eyes were glinting purple. 

"You keep looking at me," Louis commented. His eyes once again flickered towards Harry.

"I can't help it." But he looked away anyway and his eyes settled on the nonexistent sun.

*

When they were back inside the treehouse, separated by a mere cream pillow, Harry asked: "Can I kiss you?"

Louis was stunned for a second, but he nodded. He let his legs drop open from where they were originally brought against his chest, and Harry was given a cue to move closer. He crawled across Louis' body and settled himself between his legs. Since Louis' arms took up the width of the sofa, Harry was left with having to locate his own around Louis' neck and tangled his fingers in Louis' hair. Harry took his time to admire Louis' pretty eyes and pretty lips.

"Stop leaving me hanging," Louis whispered. He lifted his arms from his sides and wrapped them around Harry's waist, pulling him closer so that their bodies were flush together. Louis' bare legs were locking Harry's down against Louis' pelvis, and his hand were beginning to grab at Harry's arse.

Harry finally brought their lips together, gently at first until Louis deepened the kiss. One of Louis' hands travelled up Harry's back and it made Harry shiver, which vibrated against Louis' chest and pelvis, and Louis sighed into the kiss. And then Louis' fingers were being locked into Harry's hair and he gently began to tug, which made Harry break the kiss so that he could let out a whimper into Louis' neck.

Louis ran his hand through Harry's curls whilst Harry composed himself. Harry was beginning to shiver against Louis' body and Louis in turn tugged at the smaller curls at the base of Harry's neck. Harry felt a gradual tightness in his pants, which Louis probably felt too since they were pressed so tightly together.

"I think I found your weakness," Louis whispered mockingly into Harry's hair. His voice was an octave lower than usual and it made Harry shudder. By this point, he was trying not to rub against Louis' crotch for friction. 

Harry shook Louis' hands from his hair and tried to sit up. He backed away from Louis, who looked at him questioningly with flushed cheeks and bitten lips. When he saw Harry's embarrassed expression, he sat up himself and inched closer to Harry so that they were both sat in the middle of the sofa.

"I wish you could see yourself," Louis said. He brought his hands to rest against Harry's shoulders and pressed a kiss into his lips. Then, he unexpectedly travelled his hands lower, staring Harry in the eyes as he ran his fingers across the waistband of his jeans. "Is this okay?" He asked, and when Harry nodded Louis began to fumble with the button in the front of his jeans, undoing it and yanking down the zipper with one hand. "Lay back," Louis commanded.

Harry managed to comply, balancing his head against the headrest. Louis straddled him and tugged down Harry's jeans the slightest bit so that his boxers were visible. He leant down to brush his lips against Harry's and when Harry's mouth was open and inviting, Louis startled him by running his hands under his boxers. Harry tried not to panic and focused on the kiss: Louis tongue was sweetly running across the tip of his and the slight scruff around Louis' mouth was pressing into Harry's skin. 

Louis' hands ventured further and Harry arched into the touch, breaking the kiss for a second until Louis used his other hand to guide them back together. Harry could feel Louis gently rocking against Harry's crotch, and then he could feel Louis' hand wrap around him and Harry grasped at Louis' tee. Louis' touch was delicate and enticing. He was gently stroking across the base of Harry's cock, emitting moans from Harry into Louis' mouth. The pressure from Louis' rocking was vigorous against Harry's scrotum. He felt heat pooling around his stomach, his pelvis, the entirety of his body.

Louis retracted his mouth and began to press kisses along Harry's jaw, littering them across Harry's neck. The sensation added to the build-up in his cock. Harry rutted up towards Louis' stomach and Louis tightened his grip dangerously so. Harry relaxed his body a little and began to rock in sync with Louis' grinds. Louis began to move his hand faster against Harry, bringing his thumb to the tip occasionally to run it across in a way that sent shudders across Harry's spine. Eventually, the build-up turned into a burning sensation in the pit of Harry's stomach. Louis' kisses became more avid, his hand gestures frantic. Harry ground faster and faster against Louis' petite hand, feeling a sudden burst of cum dribble out of his cock and pour onto Louis' hands and Harry's chest. His body buzzed as Louis' fingers continued to slide across the slickness. Harry closed his eyes as he rode out his high, whimpering lowly and gripping harshly onto Louis' hair.

When Harry's cock had spilled as much as it could, Louis removed his hand from Harry's boxers. Harry watched as Louis brought it to his lips and began to lick off the white substance. Louis' other hand was being shoved into his own boxers, and Harry watched in awe as Louis wanked himself off. Louis leant down again and pressed his lips against Harry's softening dick, licking the cum first from the tip and then licking across Harry's stomach for the rest. Louis was beginning to desperately tug at himself under those pretty red shorts. He rested his head against Harry's thigh and began to whimper and rut against Harry, who in turn began to run his fingers through Louis' hair. Then, Louis was leaking into his pants whilst moaning into Harry's skin. The two of them spent the aftermath collapsed together.

*

Harry was becoming worried.

Louis hadn't been up to the treehouse for the past few days. Normally, Harry would be fine with that, but Louis wasn't replying to his messages either. Harry had tried calling but it went to voicemail, and Louis' distant voice was telling Harry to 'leave a message.' Harry left plenty.

The last time Harry saw him was on the Friday, and he'd appeared fine. They'd slept on the sofa together and awoke with cuddles. Louis left to shower, and he never came back.

Harry was doing the thing again, where he would try to pinpoint every single reason why Louis might've wanted to stay away. And he was blaming it on himself. He figured that Louis didn't want anything to do with Harry, with him being childish and inexperienced, yet he didn't want to be outright about it and so he simply left.

Except, it had only been a few days. He busied himself yesterday with driving Gemma to London with his parents. They spent the day looking around the city and Gemma showed them her favourite spots. When it was time for Gemma to go back to her uni halls, Harry gave his sister the biggest hug he could muster and waved goodbye as she walked away. It was almost like he was watching her for the first time. But she promised to visit again soon, and he believed her.

Harry gave Louis a few more days.

*

Saturday, 13:01  
'Are you in the treehouse yet?'

Saturday, 16:38  
'Everything okay?'

Monday, 12:47  
'You haven't replied in two days, kinda worried'

Monday, 21:12  
'I'm sorry'

Tuesday, 15:28  
'Is it my fault? If I did something you can just tell me'

*

Harry found himself outside Zayn's cabin. He rapped his knuckles against the door and waited anxiously outside. He could hear shuffling inside, followed by Zayn pulling open the door with a wary smile.

"Hey, Zayn," Harry greeted. 

"Hi, come in. Everything okay?" Zayn pulled open the door and Harry dawdled by the kitchen, waiting for Zayn to close the door behind him. Zayn pulled out two stools and sat at one. Harry gladly took the other.

"Have you heard from Louis?" Harry asked.

Zayn shrugged. "Not since last week."

"Me either. He's ignoring my messages and calls."

It felt as though Zayn was inspecting Harry with his piercing, dark eyes. "Did anything happen?" He questioned.

Harry began to shake his head, but then he shrugged. "We... Kissed, and stuff. The day after was when he started ignoring me," he murmured weakly.

Zayn raised his eyes and grinned. "I knew it would happen soon. You guys are adorable."

"Did you skip out on the end of the end of my sentence?" Harry quipped. Zayn shrugged as though he didn't have a reply.

"Louis is an open person, mostly. He wouldn't just run away because of that. I'm sure he has his own reasons."

Harry agreed that Louis could probably deal with regretting a handjob. But it didn't make sense why he was gone. Harry slumped against Zayn's kitchen table and Zayn reached out his arms to cradle Harry. They huddled in a comfortable silence.

*

Harry debated visiting Louis' house, but decided against it because of many reasons: 1) Louis may not be home and Harry would've travelled into the village for nothing; 2) Harry may be part of the problem and he would only encounter an awkward situation; 3) He just couldn't bring himself to.

He was sat by the tree that held the treehouse in its branches. The sun had been overhead for the past few weeks and the bark was dry and prickly under his skin. Harry felt a sense of longing. He felt like the plants around him, thirsting for something that wasn't about to appear. 

Whilst he sat there, chanted a mantra in his head over and over: 'Please come back.'

And with every chant, he used a sharp rock to create a score in the tree trunk. When he was happy with the messy ridges he'd created in the surface, he dropped the rock to the floor and walked home.

*

"He's still not back. He isn't replying. It's been over a week, Zayn," Harry whined.

"Don't fuss. He'll be back, I know he will. Sometimes he spends a few weeks at home, especially on—." Zayn stopped talking and looked over at Harry, alarmed. 

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"I think I know why he went," Zayn revealed. His face paled the slightest bit and he brought his roll-up to his lips and inhaled deeply. 

"And?"

"Just... It's not you, okay? I've know Louis for over a year, I know has his reasons. Just give him a few more days. A week max. And he'll be here."

Harry eyed Zayn suspiciously. "Is he in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that. Just trust me."

Zayn was an easy person to trust because he was always honest and didn't have the motives to be a bad person. He assured Harry that Louis' disappearance had nothing to do with him and it lifted Harry's spirits just a tad. 

But there was still an inkling of dread dispersing across Harry's body at the thought that there was even a slight chance of Louis leaving because of who Harry was or what Harry wanted. It taunted him because he'd never been in a relationship with a guy before, it was entirely new to him and he had nothing to compare it to. He didn't know if he was a shit lover or a shit friend because he'd never experienced anything like it before and all he could do was worry that he had done something wrong. 

*

Two days later, Harry climbed the steps to the treehouse expecting a desolate graveyard. But when he tiredly pulled open the door, there was Louis. He was sat in the very middle of the sofa, smiling over at Harry as though he hadn't been missing for the last week and a half. He had a cigarette to his lips. There were noticeable bags under his eyes, one less lightning bolt in his iris, yet his eyes were finally aligned with Harry's own eyes and Harry felt like he was floating. Then the anger struck, and Harry scowled over at Louis' happy expression.

"Where the fuck have you been, Louis?" Harry shouted. "I've been texting, calling... I've left more voice messages than I can fucking count. You could've texted me a simple 'I'll be back soon' or something, but no... I've been sat over here, worried, whilst you do whatever."

"Harry, I'm fine. It's all fine. I'm sorry I didn't reply, I didn't feel like it at the time." He stood from the chair, quickly dabbed his cigarette out into an ashtray, then tentatively wandering over to Harry's quaking figure. The way the cigarette fizzed out into a mere waft smoke reminded Harry of himself. "If I knew you were going to react this way, I would've called. I didn't expect you to care."

"Of course I care!" Harry bursted out with. "I like you a lot, you knew that. I thought you left me because you didn't feel the same way. I thought you didn't want to be around me." Harry's arms were shaking, his voice was shaking. He had his fingers gripped tightly in his palm.

Louis was in front of Harry by this point, but he was almost scared to go closer. He'd never seen Harry break down before or lose his cool. Louis reached out a hand and tried to caress Harry face, tried to get him to look at him with clear eyes rather than clouded by anger.

"Do you like me?" Harry demanded. His hand was wrapped around Louis' wrist, ready to pull his hand away from Harry's face.

"I do, of course I do."

"Then explain," Harry commanded, opting to give him a choice. Louis slowly took his hand back and looked towards the ground, looking as small as Harry ever though he'd see him.

"Follow me," Louis said. He climbed down the tree and Harry followed him. Then Harry silently walked behind Louis as they made their way through the gloomy woods. The sky overhead was dark and almost mocking. The branches were like claws above them, ready to pluck Harry from his confused state and throw him against the ground.

Harry was surprised when Louis led them towards his house. Louis pushed open the gate and proceeded to walk up the steps that led to the blue-painted door. Louis silently pulled it open so not to wake up his family, then toed off his shoes and began to climb up the stairs. Harry wordlessly followed him into a room that Harry had never seen before. It looked like it belonged to Louis, a series of art supplies lining the back walls and a quilt covered with footballs strewn over his bed. As Harry reached the threshold of the room, Louis simply nodded towards the wall on the right of the door. Harry noted that on the back of the door was a basketball net, which he recalled Zayn mentioning at the pond when everything was a lot less mysterious.

Whilst Louis climbed into his bed, Harry walked towards the wall. It was painted black and had a desk situated in front of it, but that wasn't what Louis had wanted him to see. Harry halted as he saw the newspaper clippings held to the wall by coloured pins.

"Young male, aged 20, crushed on railway tracks."

Harry scanned the article, not knowing what to think of it all. He knew that the tracks seemed ominous, he knew that something wasn't right about them. But he didn't understand how the death of this guy tied to Loui, or what Louis wanted him to make of all this.

"I don't get it," Harry eventually spoke.

"Liam was my best mate," Louis said, his voice barely a whisper. "We were inseparable. We found the treehouse together three summers ago and kept it as our secret hideout." Harry walked towards the bed, sitting on the edge so that he didn't disrupt Louis or his story. "I was up in the treehouse when the freak accident occurred. I heard him scream, and when I ran to the window I saw him. Laying against the tracks, crushed under the train. His body was fucking mutilated, not an inch of him left to claim. The train stopped further into the trees and the driver got off and ran towards Liam - he reached him the same time as I did. The passengers on the train were just gawping out of the windows, staring as though they were at a fucking freak-show. There were gasps when they saw the extent of the damage, when they saw Liam spread out for all to see."

Louis stopped talking and lowered his head so that Harry couldn't see the pain behind his eyelids. He looked tiny amidst the large bed, like a lone petal floating across a pond. Harry wanted to reach out for him, to pluck him from the water, but Louis was already drifting away. 

"I couldn't look. The train driver was asking me questions, but all I heard in my ears was a churning sound. I ran away, I sped all the way back into the village to tell Liam's parents, but they'd already heard the news by the time I was knocking on the door. There was nothing that I could do but sit as the police came over and talked things through with Liam's mother. I didn't want to stay, didn't want to hear any of it, but I pleaded with them to let me listen to what they had to say anyway.

"I only cried the day after. It was Liam's birthday, and I'd originally prepared a surprise for him. I was going to drive him to London and we were going to go out clubbing for his big twenty-first. It would've been spectacular. But instead, I sat at home crying because Liam was gone.

"For the following months I stayed away from the tracks and the treehouse. The tracks remain because there wasn't enough funding to pull them up along the entire route the train took, and I didn't have the heart to do it myself. When I eventually went back into the woods, I met Zayn. I spent my time painting and hiding from my family." Louis' eyes were teary, but there wasn't an ounce of liquid on his cheeks. Harry reached out and brushed his thumb across them, anyway, as though trying to soothe the ache that was building up inside.

"Three days ago, August 29th, was his twenty-third birthday. I didn't want you to see how weak I was. I didn't want to stay by the tracks and see the remainder of mine and Liam's friendship. I couldn't."

Harry was beginning to feel tears welling up in his own eyes. Louis took Harry's hand and held it in his, wrapping his fingers across Harry's knuckles. Harry shuffled further onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Louis' neck, pulling him into his shoulder for what felt like an eternity. Warm tears rolled down Harry's collarbones and Louis let out muffled cries, tugging at Harry's hair. This time, the pain in his scalp gave him a taster of what Louis could be feeling inside and Harry held onto Louis as tight as he could, trying to squeeze out the hurt. 

Finally, Louis lifted his head and collected his tears with his fingertips. Harry let Louis have a moment, simply watching as Louis fluffed out his hair and used the back of his hand to wipe at his red nose. Louis stood from the bed and opened his desk drawer. He took out a book and handed it to Harry with cold, shaking hands. 

"This," Louis began before Harry could give him a confused look. "Was mine and Liam's favourite book. We found it together and read it together." Harry took the worn-out copy and skimmed the cover. The title read 'On the Road.' 

"Why are you handing it to me?" Harry asked softly.

"I want you to read it. It's accumulating dust in my desk, and having it here serves as more of a bad omen than anything else. Sometimes I think too hard about the times when me and Liam would read it out to one another in the treehouse, and the book turns into an ugly memory. I don't want it to be something that I'll end up regretting."

Harry is about to ask why Louis stayed attached to all of this stuff, to ask why he had newspaper clippings on his walls. But Harry knew how it felt to not be able to let go of something, and he figured he knew Louis' reasonings.

Louis didn't have Liam anymore. The only thing he had was his memories, and those could easily be forgotten with time. So he kept onto something solid to remember, because Liam wasn't merely a memory. Liam was his best friend, his childhood. Louis wasn't clinging on to lost hope by keeping all of these articles, he was simply willing himself not to forget. And now Louis was offering a piece of his past to Harry in the form of a book, and Harry wanted to cry at how good that felt. Louis wanted Harry to be a part of his future.

"I'll tell you what I think about it," Harry replied softly.

Louis' smile was watery, but it was a smile nonetheless. He dropped onto the bed and pulled the duvet over his body. Harry placed the book on the ground beside them and crawled into bed behind Louis. He wrapped his arms around Louis' slightly smaller frame to protect him from the thoughts that Harry knew far too much about.

* 

Harry spent the following week reading the book he was given. There were many interesting analogies within the book that made Harry feel certain things. He could imagine Louis and Liam holed up in the treehouse whilst reading it; Louis would be painting, dabbing away with a paintbrush. And Liam would be sprawled on the couch, trousers rolled up, reciting verses from the book in funny accents that would make Louis throw his head back whilst he laughed softly.

Harry decided that it was only fitting if he told Louis about his past. If they were both open with each other there was nothing to lose, and Harry sure as hell didn't want to lose Louis. 

Louis had wrapped his arms around him and whispered, "The only people for me are the mad ones." Harry quickly made that quote one of his favourites.

*

"What courses are you doing in college?" Louis asked. The pair were on Louis' backyard in a bright orange hammock, which Harry could honestly say he'd never done before.

"I was thinking of going for photography," Harry said. He hadn't entirely thought things through, he'd been fairly busy trying to justify who he was and who Louis was. "I was going to continue what I started doing last year in Cheshire, but why not start afresh?"

"You'll ace photography," Louis said with a peck on Harry's cheek. Harry blushed at Louis' increasing amount of intimate displays. "We should definitely go on a date when you have a break."

"Are you, like, officially asking me out?" Harry asked, his heart swelling with affection. Louis had been extra endearing after telling Harry about his past and Harry appreciated it more than ever. When he'd told Louis about his past anxiety, Louis promised him that he'd never do anything to purposely hurt Harry. The deep clash of grey that filled Louis' eyes showed that he meant it.

"Yes, I am," Louis replied. His small fingers danced across Harry's chest and played with the thin necklace dangling from Harry's neck. "Hey, come with me. I need to do something."

Louis peeled himself from Harry's body and went into the house. He got dressed into something more suitable and trekked through the village and into the woods. They found themselves at the place where it all started, nestled in a hidden treehouse.

Harry walked over to the sofa and sat on the edge of it whilst Louis headed towards the wall of canvases. Louis began to pick up the canvas in the middle, the one that he'd been defensive over so many times before. The black, scratchy lettering glared at Harry as Louis placed the canvas on the floor next to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. He got up from the chair and walked around the coffee table to stand by Louis.

"The quote is from the book," Louis said. Harry had already realised that a few days ago. He felt a pang of guilt that he'd ever suggested removing it from the wall, especially now that he knew just how much it meant to Louis.

Louis picked up a canvas from the side of the drawers. It was the first one he'd painted of Harry. Harry's figure was surrounded by trees, his demeanour clueless and fragile. But the painted nature around him gave him a sense of strength he'd never imagined. It was probably Harry's favourite painting of Louis', because Louis had the initiative to paint it for himself before he even knew who Harry was. It was fated.

Louis lifted the painting high and it guarded him like a halo. He hooked it onto the lone screw in the wall, slotting it in place where all of Louis' bad memories were previously held. The little figure of Harry in the painting no longer looked fragile. Instead, it felt like it was holding together the rest of the wall. The other canvases were no longer tied by a scratchy memory. 

The quoted canvas was placed by the side of the drawer. Louis looked at Harry, and his eyes held the universe. 

*

'But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.'


End file.
